


After The Fall

by Monroe_Happens



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adult Content, Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Dark, Dark Comedy, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, Hate Sex, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 37
Words: 96,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monroe_Happens/pseuds/Monroe_Happens
Summary: It's a lonely road when you live forever. So you collect toys and other playthings along the way to keep you sane.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Meg Giry, Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Madame Giry, Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Meg Giry, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/La Sorelli, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Madame Giry, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Meg Giry, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. I always wanted a good Meg story, and I never found what I actually wanted, so I wrote this. I don't own her, or her friends and I have to admit that just because I want it to be cannon, does not make it so. There. That was hard. I don't know where this story is going. It just evolves and I type words. so I'm just as surprised as you will be. I also watch a lot of Schitts Creek because of the pandemic lock down and I feel like she would quote Alexis. Anyway, cheers, thanks, read, or don't. not your boss.

* * *

Nadir and Charles light up their cigarettes with a shared flame. Jules moans from his position on the floor.

His heart is broken.

Again.

Meg kneels next to him, holding both of his hands squeezing them to show support and comfort.

“Jules,” her voice like a cool pool of water,” you’ll live through this.”

He cries out in agony. He pulls his hands away and angrily beats at his heart.

“I am broken! She ripped out my soul! I can’t breathe without her!”

Nadir and Charles laugh like a pair of barking dogs. Charles falls to his knees dramatically, reaching out.

“My Sun! The star of my universe has betrayed me for the moon! I’m a left with only a black hole.” He bows his head; he weeps melodramatically and exaggerates the sounds. Nadir takes a long drag from his cig before he pats his friend on the shoulder.

“Stick to architecture.”

Meg turns and frowns at the pair.

“Your friend is on the floor writhing in pain and the two of you stand in the corner, smoke and mock him.”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Meg exhales deeply, ashamed of the two. She caresses Jules cheek.

“That’s something Erik would do.”

Nadir and Charles exchange glances and accept this.

“Someone has to pick up the slack when he’s not around.” Charles shrugs. Jules scoffs and pushes Meg’s hand away.

“They know nothing of love!” He cries and hisses at them.

“What was her name again?” Nadir tries to make fun shapes out of the smoke.

“It was like a rock, or a mineral or something.” Charles says.

“Pearl, Shale, Opal, Ruby,” Nadir starts.

“Or maybe Faith? Hope?” Charles taps his chin in mock pondering.

They both snap their fingers.

“It starts with a,” D,”

“Delores, Denise.” Charles counts with his fingers.

“Delilah!” They both shout and break out into laughter.

“It might as well be!” Jules snaps. He raises his head glare and sends rude gestures.

Meg tries to remain cool and collected. Ever the mature and noble one.

“You’ve known Destiny,” the two quietly shout, “Destiny,” for a week. She was not the one for you. She didn’t treat you very nicely, remember?”

“Didn’t she invite someone over while you were in the shower?” Charles asks knowing the answer.

“In your own house.”

“Remember? Erik face-timed us because he thought you were going to have a surprise threesome and he didn’t understand the concept.”

“But you didn’t though.”

“Which made the face call so much better!”

“His commentary!” They both laugh. Jules curses them out in German, knowing that they do not speak it.

“She kicked you out of your own bed to fuck someone else.”

“Now that’s a boss bitch.”

“I’m dying. I don’t want to live anymore, there’s no point.” Jules laments.

“I get his record collection.”

Nadir waves that notion away and clicks his tongue.

“I get the collection.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Known him longer.”

“Quantity has nothing on quality.”

“I can hear you!”

Meg is nearing the end of her rope.

“Jules, you’re going to stand up now.” She tries her best to pull him up to his feet. Seeing the need for an assist, Nadir and Charles walk over and both manage to get Jules to his feet.

“We’re going out. It’s going to be fun.” Meg gets up on her tippy-toes and kisses Jules on the cheek.

“I’m sad, can I have a Meg kiss?” Charles pouts.

“I think we’re confusing sad and pathetic.” Nadir mutters.

“Is it just us?” Jules asks. He pouts. He does not want to go out, be seen. He wants to lay down and die.

Nadir shakes his head and pulls out his phone.

“Me: Hey E, we’re going out to the usual place. Jules got dumped—again,” Jules mumbles a, “nice,” do you want to join us? Be around 11.”

Nadir pauses for a moment.

“This is his reply, translated by yours truly. Erik: Pretentious unneeded poetic condescension. Obscure references to art and culture. Random vulgarity to spice this up. Fucking Christine. Will meet you after.”

Nadir closes his phone and the others clap.

“Fantastic translation!”

“Brava!” Charles whistles.

“So, he’s back with songbird?” Jules is not so sure about that.

“Christine left Raoul—again, a week or so ago.” Meg smiles sadly. The atmosphere changes.

“Should we support this?” Charles fumbles for a new ciggy. Nadir shakes his head and plays with his lighter.

“Christine will remember he’s an insane psychotic sociopath in a week or two.” He shrugs and lights Charles new cig.

“They break up so much.” Jules groans.

“Christine is confused. A lot has happened to her in a short amount of time. Erik also, does not make it easy. You know how he manipulates people, us included.” Meg finds the floor interesting.

“Should we worry about you?” Charles puts his arm around her.

“Me?”

“We can guess what happened.”

“Guys, don’t.” Jules protests weakly.

“You were in E’s bed and everything is going well.” Nadir starts.

“Then a message from Christine and he kicks you out of the bed violently.”

“And then prepares himself for her.”

“You know, the woman he “loves,”

“Wrong.” Meg says gently.

“Wrong?”

“We were out. He was taking me to a jeweler.”

The temperature drops.

“Well, fuck.”

“He paid for my Uber.” Meg laughs bitterly, fighting back tears at the memory.

“The least he could do.” She says quietly.

“He was going to--?” Jules hates his best friend/puppet master sometimes.

“Your wedding would have been interesting.” Nadir muses.

“Lots of Fosse.”

“I’m sure his wedding to Christine will be magical.” Meg can be a big girl and wish them love and happiness and she does. Both deserve to be happy and have love.

A knock on the door breaks the tension.

“Erik said he’d meet us there.” Charles says confused.

“Erik doesn’t knock. He just appears.” Jules walks over hesitantly.

Raoul looks like hell. He walks inside without waiting for the invitation. Jules hisses at him from behind.

“Hello,’ Nadir says slowly. Charles waves awkwardly. The men turn to Meg for answers.

“He’s sad too. He deserves a night out with good company.” Meg has her spine up. The others mumble compliance. Raoul scoffs. He is feeling very bitter.

“We’re going to have fun, fun, fun,” Meg stomps her feet at each, “fun.”

“How about some laughs?” Jules says in a bored tone.

“Don’t you want a good time?”

Meg is pleased.

“Let’s go out and get ourselves a big spender.” They cheer, jeer, and whistle. Meg drags Jules and Raoul out the door. Charles stops Nadir.

“Raoul is with us.”

“Yes.”

“We’re meeting E later.”

“What is our Meggy planning?”

“Clever clogs she is.”

“Indeed. Anything else?”

“If Meg is free again.”

“She’s not free. She is the most imprisoned out of all of us. Forget about her. Won’t happen.”

“He’s going to be distracted.”

“He won’t let her go. Never. Even if it does work out with Christine, he will keep Meg shackled. Remember he loves her. This is how he loves.”

“I’m going for it.”

“Not a good idea.” Nadir hates being the Dad of the group.

“I have to. My blood and heart demand it.” Charles goes out without his blessing. Nadir follows quietly, praying it does not turn into a Red Night.

* * *

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Get the fuck out.” The Bartender is about to jump the island that separates them. Nadir smiles brightly.

“Still annoyed about the other night?”

“Like it was yesterday.” He narrows his beady eyes. Nadir is unfazed and unafraid. He knows the _truest_ and _purest_ evil; its name is Erik and they are best friends.

“Get over it. It is a new day! Glory to God!” Nadir opens his arms wide.

“Can I get a vodka soda?” Jules cuts in, he is bored of the display. He waves his hand, vying for attention.

“Gin, double.” Charles waves money to invoke interest.

“Fuck you and your friends.” He crosses his arms to show off his gym progress.

“There will be plenty of time for that later, my friend.”

“Joey,” Meg’s voice is soft like silk. His entire affect changes abruptly. His scowl melts away. It is impossible to be a grump or angry when Meg is around you. She has an angelic glow.

“You’re better than this. Drop their line. You don’t need to play their games.”

Joey can never refuse her.

“Can my friends have their drinks, please?” He nods.

“Thank you.” She means it. Her friends get their drinks, they mumble gratitude.

Meg slides him a nice tip. He catches her wrist and holds it tightly. Nadir’s cop senses tingle and he wags his finger and shows his badge. Meg is released, she rubs her wrist.

“We’re cool, it’s fine.” She says, out of breath.

Charles finishes his gin as soon as it is set in front of him, he hails for another, and another.

“Slow down mate, E isn’t even here yet.” Nadir is still on his first beer.

“You’re Muslim.” Charles says, looking at his friend’s glass.

“Kind of.” Nadir drinks.

“Theory of a Muslim.”

“In-between.” He twists his hands in a so-so way.

“infidel influence?”

“My son died.”

“Fair point.”

Charles leans back and looks down the bar. Meg, Raoul, and Jules are chatting happily. Raoul says some big joke and the other two laugh boisterously.

“Freak!” Meg laughs/shouts. She playfully hits Raoul’s shoulder.

“Don’t do it. Not going to end well.” Nadir frowns.

“Won’t know without trying.”

“Erik will, and I mean this as an absolute, kill you.”

“He has to pay attention to her first.”

“Whatever fucked up relationship he has with Christine is _nothing_ compared to his with Meg. He won’t blink or think twice, if you fuck with his game, you die.”

“We’ll run off somewhere.”

“He will follow you to Hell.”

Charles has had enough of this. He walks up behind her. Nadir pushes him out of the way and pulls Meg to her feet.

“Show me your moves.” He leads her to the dance floor.

“Oh, let’s do that tik tok one.” Meg and Nadir are mirror images of dance moves. There is a freedom and euphoria Meg feels only when she dances. No more darkness or chains.

“Not a good idea.” Jules says softly.

“Hey, is that Destiny?” Charles points off in the distance.

“Fuck off.” Jules slams his head down on the bar, only to be yelled at and sits right back up.

“I don’t understand what happened.” Raoul says into his drink. His turn for consoling.

“Try threatening her, but you know, sing it, so it’s romantic.” Charles massages Raoul’s shoulders.

“Ha. Ha.” Raoul hails for more booze. Nadir returns with Meg.

“Oh no. Too much grump. Come on, we’re supposed to have, fun, fun, fun.” She moves her body rhythmically to the left. She smiles something stupid.

“Doncha want a good time?” Fosse pose.

“No? How about a few laughs?” She pulls at her face.

Charles feels brave.

“I could use a good time.”

“Well, let’s get to it then,” She holds out her arm. He accepts and they go back to the dance floor.

“That’s not going to end well.” Jules sighs. The others agree.

For Charles it is pure bliss. Intoxicating. She moves with the music, like water. They are in sync, became one. The universe is theirs alone. He is happy. Everything becomes slow. A gloved hand pulls her away into the shadows. He is alone.

Time speeds up. His world ends and begins at once. He is lost, feeling empty. He is knocked about by the others. He hears curses, drinks are spilled onto him, the music is terrible, and the colors hurt. With his head low he joins his friends.

“Chuck, where’d you go?” Meg pokes hm.

“Me?”

“Rude, leaving a lady all alone.” She turns her head up in mock disgust.

He is about to respond when time slows once again and his heart falls to the floor. A long arm, donned in black rests against the bar counter, white gloved fingers tap in annoyance. Charles inhales sharply. Meg is trapped by the newest arrival. She looks down, the floor is of great interest. She thinks of ballet and killer klowns from space.

Erik is behind her, pressed against her, his other hand plays with her hair. Tonight’s mask is all gold and covers the entire face. His outfit? Black tie event, his jacket comes included with an attached hood, that is up. Because of course it does and is.

Charles bites his lip. He clenches his fits. He will not say anything or make any sudden movements. He will not show weakness or true signs of interest in Meg. He does know and understand he will die if he betrays himself.

“Erik!” Nadir welcomes his bestie. He raises his glass.

“Did you kill anyone today? Remember, I am an officer of the law. You have to tell me.”

“Today?” Jules scoffs.

“I’m still entirely too sober.” Charles hails for more gin. He nods his greeting to his friend.

Joey fulfills the request but freezes.

“Oh, fuck me.” He feels the life drain from him when he sees Erik. He turns and places a bottle in front of Meg and Erik.

“On the house, leave me alone.” He hurries off.

“What? He refuses to serve me, and you get a free bottle?” Nadir curses in his mother tongue.

“Well, to be fair you did fuck his wife in the back.” Jules says.

“And you weren’t shy about it.” Charles says.

“Didn’t you also start a fire?” Meg asks.

“That fire wasn’t me! It just happened.”

“Right.”

“You knocked over the requisition cart and dropped a lit match.” Erik speaks for the first time. He looks for an empty glass to pour his liquor.

“You’re supposed to be my on side. That is the rule of best friendship Erik. No exceptions.” Nadir glares like a child.

“Stating facts isn’t picking a side.”

“Facts that are against me.”

“You fucked his ugly wife and started a fire. Facts. If you want me to back you in a fight that is completely arbitrary and a waste of time, sure I’ll be in your corner.” Erik settles for an empty glass in front of Charles and pours his drink. He offers to Meg, who declines.

“Thank you!” Nadir, somewhat buzzed at this point, walks over and kisses Erik’s mask before going back to his stool.

“You were _really_ wasted that night.” Meg stretches the “r”

“You propositioned Meg.” Jules remembers.

“I did?” Nadir does not remember that.

“Several times.” Meg’s face turns pink

Nadir feels for a pulse.

“And yet I’m not dead.”

“You were drunk, gave you a free pass.” Erik wishes he had something stronger than this to drink.

“I get free passes?”

“Only you.”

“Heh! Well, I’ll make sure you won’t get arrested if you commit a crime—er, more crimes.”

“I know.”

“Fuck, Erik. Can’t I just offer you something? You do not have manipulate everyone all the time! Sometimes we just want to do something nice for you!”

“Nadir, you’re getting—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He turns away and drinks angrily.

“This is why we can never take you anywhere nice,” Charles smacks the back of Nadir’s head.

“ _That’s_ why?” Jules scoffs.

“I mean he is partly why we had to leave France.” Charles misses France so much. They all do, except Nadir. He misses Iran.

“I miss Nice.” Jules closes his eyes and remembers.

“How about just being able to speak French and everyone understands you.” Meg swirls her drink.

“The food.” Jules misses proper cafes.

“The culture.”

“Fashion.” Meg moans.

“France.” They all say in longing.

“We had to leave because they were asking questions,” Raoul says, the others forgot he was there.” Charles never got around to changing his name, or you know, leave the city. “

“Yeah, that was brilliant.”

“Hey! I wasn’t that known or popular.”

“Chuck, you entered every architecture contest, you took every commission and tried to start a school.”

“You designed the most famous cathedral in that city.”

“You’re in history books.”

“Except for that.”

_“Except for that.”_

“Erik, we talked about this! Don’t do that!” Charles would throw his drink at him, but then he would have no drink.

“I think I’m folding. I perform tomorrow. Tonight, was my only day off.” Meg salutes and leaves the bar. Charles is about to offer her a ride, but Erik walks with her.

“Let her go.” Jules says. Charles does not and he follows them.

* * *

Meg has her arms crossed and tries to be confidant and cool. Charles watches from a distance. He could walk right up, say he is calling it a night too, but something holds him back.

“I’m cool.” Meg says, not looking at him or anything. She sways with the wind. She likes the cold air.

“Your actions say otherwise.” Erik counters. He is leaning against the brick wall of the bar.

“What did you expect? It hurt, but I’m over it now. We can be friends if that’s what you want. If Christine makes you happy, then I am glad. You deserve to be happy.” She says this, looking at him directly. She means it. She wishes him all the best and love.

This angers him deeply. He pushes off from the wall and stops in front of her, grabs her throat with both hands. She does not fight or flinch. She waits. Allows. He doesn’t squeeze. Just holds. Headlights distract him. Her ride has arrived. He takes a step back, releasing her.

“Goodnight Erik, I’m happy for you. I mean that.” She reaches out for his hand, holds it for a moment before she lets go and gets into the car.

Erik opens the door, pulls her out and into him arms, he takes off his mask and kisses her madly. She is hesitant at first but responds eagerly. When oxygen becomes necessary, she pats him, and he pulls away.

“I really do want to go home.”

“You’ll need an escort. You never know what will happen with these,” he indicates the Uber.

“You’ll protect me from the monsters, right?” She doesn’t want to let go. He nods.

“It easy when you’re the Devil.”

“If you’re the Devil, what does that make me?”

“ _Mine_.”

Charles has had enough of this and turns to go, only to run into a group leaving. They push back and he must manipulate momentum to stay on his feet.

“Fuck off,” one says and makes a move like they will hit him. Charles steps away. Others curse at him loudly as they pass.

“Charles?” Meg calls out to him. He waves awkwardly. Erik puts his mask back on.

“Do you mind if we share a ride? I’m over this too.” He smiles.

“Erik is the one who is paying—”

“You and Nadir are usually the last ones to leave.” Charles tries to keep smiling. A suspicious Erik means he lost, and he has to keep face somehow.

“We have to drag you out.” He tilts his head to the side, like a puzzled animal.

Charles nods.

“Tonight, I don’t feel it.” Charles tries his best to remain chill. He waves his hand, like he wants the night to go away.

“No?” He turns his head to the other side. Not a good sign. Charles has to think of something clever fast.

“Bad memories. Bad beer.”

“Her?”

Her. Charles blinks, confused. Then it clicks.

“Oh. Yes. _Her_.”

Erik accepts this and allows him passage.

* * *

Charles is dropped off first. As he leaves the he hears a voice in his ear:

“Don’t let the bitch in. She’s too much and you become a dying addict.” Charles gives his friend a thumb’s up as he turns and closes the door behind him. He walks up the steps to his front door, it feels like an eternity.

He goes through the motions of preparing for bed. He takes a little too much of his sleeping aid before he collapses face first onto his bed.

* * *

Meg wants to be surprised, but she can’t. She shakes her head. Of course, he would take her to his. She laughs bitterly. Of course. What a way to end the night. If only her body and mind would work together, and she could stay in the car. Then she would need her mouth and tongue to cooperate and that is already asking too much.

She doesn’t really need to be led around the crypt of a home. She has the layout memorized at this point.

“It’s like a witches house in here, David.” She says to herself, laughs at the memory and reference. Good times. That gets his attention. She didn’t know he stopped, and she runs into him.

“Who’s David?”

“Huh?”

“You called out to, “David.”

“I was quoting something.”

“Quoting.”

“Yes.”

He is hesitant but he continues to lead her along the path. He opens the door to his grand bed chamber and pulls her inside.

“What about Christine?” Meg eyes the exit as she is pushed gently, firmly, backwards onto the bed.

“She’s not here.” He takes off his coat with great care.

Meg could run while he his distracted. He hates messes, and will not damage his clothing, so while he neatly puts his personal garments away, she could leave. She would have seconds, and sometimes that’s all you need, a few seconds.

She sits up. She shakes her legs nervously. She clenches her fists. She could call someone; they would be there as fast as they could. She could run and hide in a corner.

Her heart beats like a drum and her stomach is full of a swarm of butterflies, moths, and any other creature that represents her ill-fated sick, twisted arousal. She wants the ground to swallow her up.

The bed shifts, he is next to her. If she closes her eyes and plays her favorite ballet in her mind, then nothing can hurt and none of this is real.

Except she can feel him. She turns her head away from him. He moves it back to face him, gently, but he makes sure she knows he has the power.

“Wouldn’t you prefer the company of Christine?”

“You’re here, you’ll do.” He starts his assault with her neck. She tries to come up with plan.

“Chris—

“ _Shut up.”_

She is surprised by the force as she her back hits the mattress. She forgets Christine and her mind is replaced by pleasurable things and memories. This won’t last and with the cold light of morning, her happiness will turn to ash and she will be alone, but in this moment, she is the Sun, Moon, and entire system.

* * *

He’s gone when she wakes up. She’s not surprised. He’s not usually the one for post sex cuddles unless he has an ulterior motive. She’s glad for once, he’s not here. She picks up her clothing from off the floor and dresses herself as she makes her way to the bathroom.

She stares at her reflection. That face. The lie. The forever girl. She died on her eighteenth birthday, something else replaced her. That’s how she can cope with each day.

_“What do you want for your birthday present?”_

She thought it was an innocent question. She was so young then. Naïve and sheltered from the world. She didn’t know that monsters were real. She only vaguely believed in God and the Devil, she didn’t know she’d _meet_ them.

She turns on the water and splashes the cold against her face. Trying to wake up, to forget, move on.

_“To be with you. Forever.”_

She can hear the girl’s laughter, bright, bubbly, and so damn pure and innocent. Of course, she was food for a manipulative—

She shakes her head. She holds on the sides of the sink. He asked her what she would like in her ideal house. He wanted details, what would she want in her bathroom, bedroom, kitchen. She thought he would design something for them to live together, to have that forever.

He asked Christine the same question and cherry picked their ideas. Christine’s bedroom design won, Meg got the bathroom. Her safe place.

Meg walks over to the shower, turns it on and walks in and slides the curtains closed. She sits down on the tile, hugs her legs to her chest and just exists.

_“I’d like that.”_

* * *

Christine knew this would be awkward. She literally runs into Meg as they round the corner in the dressing room.

“So much for grace.” Meg says. She regains her composure and smiles at the other girl. Christine wants to cry and hug her friend. They stand there in silence. Meg starts to speak but stops as Christine also starts. They mumble for the other to continue. Neither do.

A few more awkward moments pass.

“I don’t hate you.” Meg says slowly.

“Oh. I. This is stupid and awkward and—”

“You were my friend first. Ho before bro.”

“I.”

“We’re not going to let Hell’s Villainer Eyes-Wide-Shut host come between us. That’s stupid. We’re having dinner later, same place. Your turn to pay.”

Christine bursts into to tears and grabs her friend.

Yup. Meg always felt like the more mature and motherly one, even though she’s a few years younger.

The other dancers call Meg and she breaks up the love fest and follows her fellows. Christine prepares for the night as well.

“You’re distracted.” The dance captain is not pleased. She stomps her foot for Meg to pay attention. She moves her body into the appropriate position.

“Stop lowering your head.”

Meg keeps her head straight, focused forward.

“Show me.”

Meg nods and she goes about the ballet. She is behind the others by half a second, something that does not happen.

“You’re sloppy! Slow! What is wrong with you! Are you a dancer? Are you here to waste our time! Again, all of you and move together!”

Again. She’s still behind slightly.

“Do you not rehearse? Again.”

Meg exhales deeply. She is determined now.

Better.

“Great. So you _can_ do it. Don’t fuck this up out there, I’ve a lot riding on you lot performing gracefully. If you make me look stupid, I will kill you all. Now one more time before you can break for water.”

* * *

“Are you ready?” Rose, the dancer on her left asks. They hear their cue and they enter the stage and perform their ballet. Something in Meg’s head starts to buzz. She tries to focus. She steps on someone’s foot.

“Hey!” They are quick to recover and add a move to appear like it was intentional. The lights become very bright and hot, Meg tries to focus, to look up, but her vison is becoming very spotty. She cannot see!

“Meg!”

The music stops as she falls off the stage and her neck snaps when it hits the edge. The production is stopped, the stage manager calls for a doctor. Christine is held back by her cast mates

\--

* * *

Christine paces the waiting room. Nadir, Charles and Jules were there. They always attend their shows. They support the girls.

“So, they said she’s dead.” Jules whistles. Charles pulls at his face.

“This is going to be awkward to explain.”

“How long before she, you know.” Jules out stretches his arms and moans.

“An hour, so we have fifteen minutes.” Nadir looks at his watch. The only one in the group who still wears watches.

“Does _he_ know?”

“I called him. He said, “ _I’ll_ take care of it,” and then we disconnected.”

“So, let’s get to work.”

They walk in separate directions.

\--

* * *

Erik feels festive and others should experience his joy, and it would be rude of him, if he did not spread joy. Which is why he is wearing the executioner’s hood and his red velvet suit, it’s like Christmas!

He’s Red Death Santa!

It’s fun!

He’s going to spread fun.

He blesses these sad pathetic souls with carols as he makes his way to his destination.

The morgue.

He has fond memories of morgues. Lots of research. He must focus. He has work to do. He pushes through the doors, ignores the cretins who call out to him and he enters where they keep the actual dead.

“You can’t be here.”

Erik looks at himself, then around. He shrugs and picks up the logbook.

“Who are you?”

“Read a book.” He flips through a page and back to the other.

“Is this the latest log? No one new in the last hour?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Erik puts the book down and checks the body that is on the table.

Bingo.

Meg.

She is so young.

Pure.

He quivers, but quickly recovers.

“What are you doing.”

“Nadir.” He whispers.

He turns around and quickly snaps his neck before turning his attention back to Meg.

He cups her face in his hands and remains like that for a minute. The lights in the room flicker before the powers goes out.

Meg’s body arches, she sucks in air, chokes, coughs. Erik takes a step backwards and watches. She turns so violently she falls onto the floor. Erik drops to the floor.

“You promised to be careful.” He clicks his tongue and wags a finger. Meg tries to scream, but nothing comes out.

He jumps to his feet and carefully lifts her off the ground, steadies her. His arms hold onto her waist.

“You remember me?”

Meg nods slowly. She wants to scream. To cry. To run. She feels sick. Her brain hurts. It’s screaming.

“That’s all the matters now, everything will come back. No food for 24 hours, stay out of the Sun. We’ll figure out some way to explain your _miraculous_ return.”

Meg makes no move or indication she understands or is paying attention. His ire starts to rise, he roughly pulls her head back.

“A show of gratitude is the least you could offer.”

“T-thank you.” She says fast and fumbles with the words. Somewhat satisfied, he taps her cheek, amused.

“There we go. Not so hard. We’re not rude or selfish people, are we?” She tries to move her head. He moves it for her.

“There is of course, the matter of payment.” He says slowly, he waves his free hand around. He likes to gesture when he speaks.

He can feel Meg’s discomfort rise and he finds his arousals slightly up as well.

“We’ll discuss that later. I won’t ask for much.”

He leads her through the wilderness. She relies entirely on him, she still cannot quite stand on her own, and needs his support.

Finally. They are free. They are out of the fire. Meg tries to pick up the pace. Charles steps out and opens the door for her, and she is helped into the car. Christine appears next to Erik. She looks sadly at her friend.

Charles is stopped by Erik’s hand on his shoulder.

“I trust you remember the care instructions?”

He nods.

“Excellent!”

He bids them leave. He puts his arm around Christine as they watch the car leave.

"Will she be okay?" Christine is worried. Seeing Meg lifeless, so still. Even though she knew . . . She became so cold.

"You doubt me?"

"Never."

He pulls her close and begins to walk to their next grand adventure. The night just started and he begins a new song.

* * *

Charles shows Meg to his spare room. He turns on the light and leads her inside, she follows. He gestures to the bed. He puts his hands behind his back and tries to think of something clever to say.

"Thank you." Her voice is rough and quiet.

"There are towels in the hall closet."

"Do you have anything I can borrow?"

"Borrow?"

"To wear."

She looks at him.

"Oh, um. I'll see if I can find something. Hang on." He leaves the room quickly, goes into his and tears though his wardrobe. He finds a long shirt and sweat pants. He goes back, but falters. Meg is biting her hand and crying. He doesn't know what to do. She looks up, quickly wipes her tears and waves him inside.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused I think." 

"ReDeath does that."

He hands her the clothing. He starts to leave.

"Charles," she says, he stops and turns.

"Thank you. You've always been there when I needed a friend. You're the only one I can count on. I--you're beautiful." She stands up. He is frozen. She walks over, kisses his cheek.

"There, your Meg kiss."

He leaves the room as fast as he can.

He goes into his room and runs around like a fool. He dances, fists pumps in triumph and then he grabs his phone,

**_Me_**

 ** _She kissed me!_**

* * *

Nadir checks his phone as his pocket vibrates 

_**Chuck**_

_**She kissed me!** _

__ _**Me:** _

_**Who?** _

_**Chuck** _

_**Meg!** _

Nadir feels his bones sting. This is not good. This is the opposite of good. He puts his phone away and rubs his face. Something else that he will have to deal with. He is sick of being everyone's shield, mother, father, babysitter. He's not paid to preform any of those roles anymore. Hasn't for years. Things were so much simpler when he was paid to babysit Erik when they first met. Just give a false report to a shah and then you call it a day.

Can't he have those days back?

He sighs.

He never had much luck.

He drinks his beer and bangs his head on the table. As long as Erik doesn't find out it'll be fine.


	2. Blood

**_New York, 1922_ **

“This isn’t my _favorite_ year.” Charles hands Meg a cup of hot chocolate. He added brandy, just the way his grandma would. It’s raining something terrible out and Meg is terrified of storms. Charles just happened to be around the block.

“ _You live 40 blocks in the opposite direction.”_ Meg pointed out as she pulled him inside. She handed him a towel and she put the kettle on.

“It’s not so bad.” She inhales the beautiful scent of the chocolatey steam. She doesn’t even like chocolate that much, but it smells like something from God’s kitchen.

“How can you lie like that?”

“How I survive.”

“Don’t survive, live.”

“Some say I may live forever.”

“Overrated if you ask me. You don’t age, your wife complains, then you watch the kids age, wither, die. _Then_ you have to explain to your great-great grand son why you look like you.” Charles waves the thoughts away with his hands.

“My mother called me an unholy thing. Lilith. That’s was another thing. No longer Meg.”

“That’s the first woman who fell, correct?”

She nods.

“Still got it.”

“So, you’re going to be eighteen forever? Where’s the harm in that? Where’s the harm in that? I’m such a fool.”

“Nadir threw up.”

“What?”

Charles giggles.

“When his um, ascension completed, he threw up, like projectile, demonic possession vomiting all over Erik.”

They both chuckle.

“Wow. He _hates_ when his gloves touch dust. I made the mistake of doing his washing once. Never again.”

“He didn’t like you touching his things?”

“No. My cleaning methods are primitive, ignorant, lack scientific application, creativity and ingenuity. But add lots of yelly singing screaming and breaking my furniture. And this.” She made wild gestures with her hands.

“He does love to gesture. Is there a word for that?”

“I’m sure there is. I don’t think he can talk without moving his hands like a high conductor.”

They are quiet for a minute.

“Why are you here?” Meg asks.

“What do you mean? Do you want me to go?”

She shakes her head.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s a monsoon out there, and you were just walking around?”

“I like storms.” He shrugs.

“So, you take casual strolls among them?”

“Don’t you?”

She shakes her head, turns her nose up in disgust.

“No. I should be hiding under my bed right now. I’m really tempted to.”

“I’ll join. No one should hide alone.”

She rests her head against him. He needs minute to process this. He moves his around her shoulders and she moves closer. He is happy.

“What do you miss?”

“Miss?”

“I miss my mother. When I was scared, she would scold me, ‘ _Meg Giry, you are not a soft baby. Hiding from loud noises does not deter them! Get up off the floor and act like the lady I am raising.’ “_

“My grandma.”

“Was affectionate like my mama?”

“No. I mean, I miss her. She and my mother did not get along. Always had these power struggles. When I was five my grandma got me a dog. You see, my mother kept her house pristine. No dust, nothing out of place. She did not abide by mess, much like our puppet master. Anyway, I’m five and my parents ask me, _‘son, what do you want for your birthday?’”_

“Candy!” Meg uses her child voice and giggles.

“I wanted a puppy, obviously. Immediately shot down. Not even open for debate. Hard no. So, what does grandma do? She not only gets me the puppy, but she gets me the most sheddy puppy of all the puppies. Named him Carver. Stayed with me until I was seventeen. _‘I don’t care what that fool of a priest or you mother say, if you want to meet Carver in heaven, you will. Just not cats. Fuck cats.’”_

“I think I would have liked her.”

“Oh, she hated everyone but me.”

“I think I could have won her over.”

“You know, you probably could have.”

“I mean if I can turn the Devil’s head, I’m sure I have power to—”

The door bursts open and Meg screams. Sorelli enters. She shakes her head like a wild animal.

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” Charles pushes Meg away.

“I’m looking for my stupid boy. Thanks for the note by the by. Could we be more vague, babe?”

“I-I’m sorry.” He walks over to her; he uses his towel to dry her off. She roughly grabs it and dries her hair.

“Hey, Sorelli, would you like something to eat or change into?” Sorelli says pointedly. Meg stands to attention.

“I’m sorry! Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Do you have something dry I can change into? That would be most helpful because you know!” She gestures to herself.

Meg runs into the back to her room. Sorelli looks around.

“This place looks cheap and dirty. How can you or anyone stand to be here? I feel dust gathering in my lungs.” She starts to gag and cough.

“It’s not dirty. She keeps a good house.”

“Whatever she gives us, we should burn.”

“Ellie, don’t be like that. You sound more American each day.”

“We are IN America. Might as assimilate. “

“Ellie, I promise we’ll go back to France.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Meg returns and hands Sorelli a dress. Sorelli is hesitant. She forces a smile, she turns to Charles, and then to Meg like an awkward robot.

“Thank you. I’ll go change.”

Meg and Charles stand in silence.

“So, things are going well with you two?” Meg tries to sound casual.

“We’re working through issues.” His voice reaches to a slightly higher octave than expected. He rubs his throat.

“That’s good. You two make an interesting pair.” She looks to the left. She tries to focus on an interesting object.

“Interesting pair, huh?”

“Yes.”

“What makes us so interesting?”

“Well, I mean.” She trails off and laughs awkwardly.

“Well?”

“I mean, she’s not exactly _monogamous_.” She says the last word with an odd affect. Charles laughs bitterly.

“Oh? And you have that with E?”

“I mean, he’s never given me an STI, so.”

“So, who is he fucking right now? Christine? Jules? I just can never keep track of that.” He taps his chin and mocks thoughtfulness.

“At least the options are limited with mine. Yours includes all of Earth.”

Sorelli returns. She looks beautiful. Her hair may be wet, but it is drying in stylish manner. The dress accents her curves perfectly.

“You look good, babe.” Charles says, he kisses her cheek. She waves him off.

“I know.” She leans into him. She watches Meg.

“So, who’s hungry?”

* * *

**New York, Today**

It’s raining. Charles frowns as he drinks coffee. He had no immediate plans for the day, but being stuck inside on babysitting duty for the woman he secretly (or not so secretly depending on whom you ask) loves is being increasing difficult to take.

His bathroom smells like her now. Her scent carries like flowers. If he could capture her scent, it may be enough. He has her laugh recorded on his phone, her image.

_She kissed me._

He touches his cheek. He knows it’s silly, but he doesn’t want to bathe or wash his face, because if he can keep her scent on him. . . .

_It was just a peck on the cheek, she didn’t kiss your lips like she meant it._

Charles clenches his fists and turns around. He tries to block the logical part of his brain out. The practical part that denies him fantasies and allows reality in.

_That’s how some of the greatest romances start._

Charles goes to the sink and tries to distract himself.

_Erik and Meg started out as friends, according to her at least._

_They met when she was seventeen and he was detoxing. She thought he was dying. Who nurses a stranger back to health when you know nothing about them? Meg never stood a chance in this world._

_“I thought he was dying. He was alone. No one should die alone. Not even him.”_

She stayed with him throughout the night, he didn’t know she was there. That’s the type of person she is. Christine pretends to love you, so she can survive, and Meg holds Satan’s hand while he throws up, because even he deserves a friend.

_If I stabbed her, she would apologize for bleeding on my shirt._

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Charles jumps and drops the dish. Meg laughs.

“Sorry, but you’ve been washing the same plate for five minutes. Either it’s really dirty or you’re thinking some very intense thoughts.”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“What do you want?” He turns around and leans against the sink, trying to appear cool and collected.

“Pasta.” She closes her eyes and inhales longingly. Charles nods. Meg walks out of the kitchen.

“Do you have Netflix?”

Charles feels pangs. There is something called Netflix and chill, he’s never tried it. Perhaps that’s her intention. He follows her sound. Meg is toying with the remote and TV.

“Ah! You do! That’s perfect. There’s this show you have to watch, it saved my life and cures all of my depression.”

* * *

A pasta dish and three seasons of Schitts Creek later, Meg has fallen prey to food coma and slumbers on the sofa, using Charles as a pillow. He is happy. He does he best not to move, even though parts of his body are numb.

The door opens and Nadir lets himself in. He clicks his tongue when he sees Charles as he enters the media room.

“What are you doing here? Also, sure, come into my home uninvited, care to raid my fridge or liquor while you’re at it? I have some expensive cuff links in my bedroom.”

Nadir ignores him.

“I’m here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid and it appears I’m too late. What is that.” He nods at the empty plates.

“It was pasta, why?”

Nadir shakes his head, curses.

“You let her eat?”

“Yes. She was hungry.”

“She’s not supposed to eat!”

Meg stirs. She leans forward and vomits blood. Not mixed with food, pure blood. She looks up and vomits more blood.

“We have to call—”

Charles runs to the kitchen, grabs a glass, fills it with water, and offers it to her. She tries to take it, but another attack.

“Her body is going to die. Again. For real this time. Why did you let her eat?” Nadir kneels next to Meg and tries to comfort her.

“She said she was hungry!”

“This is why you read the instruction manual.” Nadir rubs Meg’s back gently when it appears she has reprieve from her vomit he helps her drink the water.

“I ruined your carpet.” Her voice hoarse and rough. She has sticky blood and spit clinging to her lips. She cannot keep her head up. Her body hurts. Her soul hurts.

“I can get it replaced.” Charles says.

“I’m sorry. I’ll-“she is cut off by vomiting again. Less blood.

“I don’t care about the carpet.” He kneels by her other side and he holds her hand. When she stops, Nadir and Charles help her to her feet. They half carry, half walk her to the guest room and help onto bed and tuck her in.

Once they are outside Nadir gives him That Look.

“We can figure this out.”

Nadir follows him to the Livingroom.

“Tea. Chicken soup. Cures everything.”

Nadir says nothing, only stares at him, into him.

“You realize if we do call him, this is just another way he can manipulate it so he’s some kind of hero and she goes back to worshiping him.”

“So, you want her to worship _you_ , then?”

“Yes, I mean no. I mean, I won’t use this against her in the future as some sort of debt collection.”

“Yes, but if you want her IN the future.” Nadir sighs.

“Let’s try the tea method first and then if it fails, we’ll make the call.”

“Fine. Where’s the tea and kettle?”

-

* * *

Meg feels hot. The Earth is moving, the stars are far too loud and she can hear and feel everything, every thought. It hurts. It pulsates. She wants to scream, she cannot move.

_This is how I die. Alone._

_Mother. I’ll be with you._

She thinks of summer and friends. Dancing. The world, parks. The colors of the world. So much she had wanted to do. Never enough time and she has all the time. She clenches her fist.

Dying is a different kind of forever.

Meg has plans.

She will not let something like a silly illness take her out quietly. She is Meg Giry damnit. She’s going to rule the world one day. You can’t do that dead.

No.

She tries to focus on the word, ‘heal,’

She’s got this.

She sits up and she turns to the side, she looks down and she feel it.

She refuses.

She waits a few minutes of this private war. It eventually resides. She lays back down, exhausted.

She will fight this.

Charles walks into the room, followed by Nadir. He holds a cup of tea out to her. Meg slowly gets into a position where she can accept the cup.

“Tea.” He says. She nods. Nadir has a bowl that he sets down on the nightstand next to the bed.

“Soup.”

They watch her.

“If this is what it takes to get room service, I should get ill more often.” She sips her tea carefully. It’s very hot, she feels her tongue burn. Not a fan.

“No.” They both protest.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend on dying. I mean, who would look after Jules? You two?” She ‘ha!’s;’

“Drink the tea. It should help.”

She nods. She blows the steam and swirls the cup.

“If you die, I’ll be very cross.” Charles says. He tries to sound mean. He comes across as a wounded puppy, shy of the master.

“I promise if I die, I’ll be your ghost roommate.”

Nadir’s phone goes off. He looks and panics.

“It’s Erik.”

“Well, don’t answer.”

“I always answer. If I don’t answer he’ll get suspicious.”

“Say you’re busy.”

“Can’t. He won’t believe me and will think something is wrong.”

“How come you get the healthy relationship?”

“He killed my son.”

“Why is he calling you anyway?”

“We’re best friends, we talk. It’s how we do. Damnit. Hey!” Nadir answers the phone and paces around the room.

“I can do that.” He uses his other hand, opening and closes, indicating his very chatty chattiness and rolls his eyes.

“Yes.”

Nadir stops pacing. He exhales deeply.

“If you didn’t do it for fun, it’s fine. I won’t consider it a betrayal. I make certain allowances on the promise, I told you that when I first asked you. I understand necessity. My moral code isn’t flawless. “

Charles wonders if this is a conversation they should have in private. He sits on the bed and wishes he had popcorn.

“I mean it, It’s fine. Thank you for telling me.”

A pause.

“I’m at my desk and my chief is about to come out for a lecture, we’ll talk about this at the bar later. Charles?”

Charles ears perk up. What did he do?

“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard from her and my contacts haven’t—I remember last time. I see. Okay, he’s here, gotta go, bye.” He ends the phone call and takes a deep breath and exhales.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing. He thinks you’re with Ellie again.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“She’s completely insane.” Meg says.

“She’s also not nice.”

“A bitch.” Charles says.

“Yes.”

“She’s a female Erik.”

“Oh, God. No. Don’t say that.”

“I have to go.” Nadir hurries off.

“Drink your tea!” Charles orders.

“I sleep now.” She lays back down and Charles takes the hint and leaves the room, he turns out the light and waves her goodnight.

\--

* * *

**New York, 1922**

Charles and Sorelli are on the ground and laugh like idiots. Sorelli invited him and the others to sample their latest drug cocktail or drug charcuterie as she calls it. She rolls on top of him and slaps his face until he turns colors and starts to bruise.

“What are you like!”

“I’m getting the stupid out of you!”

She slaps harder.

“Is it working?” He cannot feel his face anyway.

“Let’s try bloodletting!”

“I don’t have, um, I don’t have.”

He can’t remember what he doesn’t have. He looks at the troll that sits in the corner of the room. It watches. Waits. He tries to wave but finds that the elephant that is on his hands, are making it difficult.

“I have a knife.” She slices his face open. She throws the knife behind her and licks the blood off of his face.

“Is it working?” His voice is muffled.

She rolls off him.

“I want your heart.”

“You can have it.”

“You gave it to Meg.”

“No! You can take it! I want you to have it! Take it from my chest cavity! Display it, all will know. You have my blood love.”

Sorelli crawls over to the knife and crawls back.

“Take it! Have my love!” He taps his chest before he takes his shirt off.

She stabs him with all her strength and starts to crave him, with great difficulty. She does not hear her guests arrive.

“Okay, but if this cocktail you invented Sorelli isn’t—

“Holy shit!”

Jules covers his mouth in horror.

Sorelli stops her works, wipes her forehead, her arms covered in blood. She smiles and waves her guests over.

“Can you help me? I think my knife is too weak.” She tries to force it move. Jules is frozen. Nadir runs over and grabs her, she doesn’t fight.

“He said I could have it.”

“Said you could have what?”

Eril walks over and sighs. He must ruin his outfit and gloves. He just had this suit cleaned and he tries his best to have limited contact. He kneels and comes up with a plan for the least amount of blood to contact his impeccable ensemble

“His heart.”

* * *

  
  


**New York, Today**

Charles stirs. He cannot sleep. Not while she is here. Sick. Blood. Violent images flash his mind. He feels a sense of dread, he gets up and his feet lead him to the hall and then he stops.

He hears voices. Voices. Plural. His heart sinks to the floor. The door is ajar and her light on the nightstand is on. He sees his shadow. He tries his best to look without being seen.

Erik is sitting on the side of her bed, leaned in way too close for Charles’s liking. Must he be so touchy when he talks to her?

She touches his mask, which he allows and he holds her hand in place. He leans in close, lifts it just enough to free up lips and

Charles has to leave. He doesn’t care where he’s going, but he cannot be here.

He doesn’t know where he feet take, but he doesn’t care. Once he is at his destination he knocks with purpose.

Sorelli opens the door.

“The fuck you—”

He grabs her tightly and they kiss, he pushes her inside and the door closes behind him.


	3. A Brief Fun Interlude With Nadir

**Some village, Iran 1852**

Nadir wipes sweat and the flour from his brow. It should not be this difficult to bake. He checks over the recipe that was given to him. Darius shrugs. He is of no help. He is just as clueless. Reza is restless and pulls at his father’s trousers. He wants attention, sweets, and toys. He is bored.

“Papa, can we go back home now? I don’t like it here.” He whines. He is getting worse with such habits.

“This is our home now. We’re free.” Darius scoffs at the word, “free,” they have no money, no success at this mad whim of Nadir’s.

* * *

_“Let’s go off and leave this world.”_

_They were taking a tour of the gardens. Erik was running rampant among them, and it was a good excuse to be outside and enjoy the world._

_“Leave this world, in what way, my friend?”_

_Nadir has grown tired of his role, of this life. He has no interest to play babysitter, to turn his head at all the injustices that happen daily. He has a son, and this is not the world he wants Reza to know, to live in. It is his duty as father to provide the best life._

_“We could do it, tonight.”_

_“What would we do? Where would we go?”_

_“Home first, get Reza and then walk until we grow weary.”_

_“What would we do, once we reach our final destination?”_

_“We’ll be bakers.”_

_It was not hard for them to leave. The entertainment was their distraction, they didn’t even need to ask or explain. They pack their things, met in the hall and walked out the front door. Nadir gave pause when he heard those screams._

_He could perform a final insult and help those poor unfortunate souls. How many lives could he have saved? A simple lock being left open, guards being called elsewhere while a few ‘kitchen workers,’ sneak out._

_A hammer to a certain mirror contraption._

_Darius touches his arm._

_“We do this for Reza.”_

_He nods and they continue._

_They are not pursued. They pack lightly, take Reza and they walk until they are weary. A nice town. No one here knows them. Nadir finds a two-bedroom home for a decent price and they set up shop so to speak._

* * *

Darius has no regrets of his life with Nadir and Reza. He just wishes that they could figure out this baking thing before they had to go back. He could enjoy the quiet life here.

“I had to leave my toys. Can we go back? You made me leave behind the one Erik made me.” He pouts. Nadir feels somewhat guilty about that, but he also wanted to leave Erik behind them too. A new start. Break away from everything and everyone. Reza will understand when he is older.

“I’ll buy you new toys.”

Smoke distracted the men. Darius went to the stove and he pulled out the pan, he dropped it, cursing his stupidity for not having something to protect him from the heat.

The damn feral cats wasted no time to attack the pan. Nadir cursed them.

“Can’t we keep one?” Reza asked. He wanted a pet. Any pet.

“We need them to taste the food, but they are not good pets. Not clean. Do not touch them.” The cat coughed and tumbled before falling.

“Papa! It’s hurt!”

“Don’t worry littlie one, cats have nine lives,” Darius winked before picking the pan up. The cat stopped moving.

“Perhaps it used them all.”

“What do we do?” Reza bit his lip.

“Another one for our cemetery.” Nadir says quietly.

Consequently, the town now a modern and extremely popular cat cemetery and garden. Darius and Nadir exchanged glances.

“I did the last one.” Darius reminds him.

“Do I have a selfish left?”

“You used it.”

Nadir sighs.

He looks down at the fallen cat. He picks up the foul dead thing and turns to his son.

“Listen to Darius while I’m away. Do not touch the cats or eat anything we baked.” Reza nodded. He wished Nadir took him along to the cemetery, but they refused.

“This is too morbid for you.”

He exited the house and made the trek to the cemetery.

It didn’t take long to dig the shallow grave or dump the animal inside. He needed a very nice hot bath when he got back.

He heard stern voices before he entered his home. Nadir felt his heart fall to the floor. An official messenger from the palace.

Damnit.

They were found.

“No.” Darius says. He crosses him arms.

“We’re not going back.” Nadir says from behind. He means it.

“Your position will be reinstated.”

“No.”

“You will be compensated generously, for your services.”

“No.”

“Your son,” Nadir grabs the messenger and leads him outside.

“No. I’m a baker now.” He closes the door and locks it. He looks at Darius.

“We have to move. Again.”

“I’ll get Reza ready.”

The next trek, they were able to move for much longer and found an even more isolated place. This time they were open to pool finances and buy an Inn. This was more successful. Reza was cute, and that was good for tips and business.

It was not long before they were found again, this time a new messenger had been sent.

“Where is the other one?” Nadir asked. Darius could guess. He gave Nadir That Look.

“When he returned without you, he, uh, his services were no longer needed.”

Nadir sighs. A death on his conscious. He feels his body shake.

“She will kill anyone who returns without us, my friend.”

Nadir considers this.

“Can you write?”

The young lad nods, confused.

“Can you read; I assume?”

He nods.

“Good. Come here. When someone checks in, write their information down here. Darius will explain the rest of the process, I have some rooms to clean.”

And that is how Nadir handled it. Each time a new messenger was sent to collect him, he offered them better, safer employment. Their loyalty was fierce.

No more will die because of him.

Then they got clever.

Nadir had the day off and found some time to lounge out in the back where he built a common area for children and others to spend time outside. Not much a grand garden or beach, but a decent spot to have picnics, to sunbathe, etc.

Nadir lays out. He was reading in the sun, but the heat lulled him to sleep. A shadow over head stirs him. He doesn’t look up. He has been waiting for this.

“I’m not going back, Erik.” He does not open his eyes. Does not need to. He has a good thing going here.

“Papa? Erik!”

“Damnit.” Nadir curses. Reza.

“I missed you!”

“We’re not going back!” Nadir says with his most firm voice.

“Shall I pack our things?” Darius has already done so.

“We’re not going back.” Nadir means it.

Reza is talking Erik’s ears off about all the dead cats and strange people he’s met on their journeys.

“They just kept dying so Papa and Darius had to find a place to bury the bodies-“

“Not bodies, they’re cats, Reza.” Darius gently corrects.

“And so, they found this lot and just started dumping—"

“Burying with care.” Nadir says.

“Then this witch came and tried to put a curse on papa-“

“It wasn’t a real curse.”

“You did have a lot of bad luck that week, friend.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Are we going back home?”

“No. This is home.”

Darius hauls suitcases cover. Nadir glares but says nothing.

“Reza, get your bag.” He runs around the corner to the inn happily.

“I said we’re not going back.” He takes the bag from Darius, he just keeps picking it up.

“It’s time.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Nadir.”

“Darius.”

“Nadir.”

“What.”

“this life isn’t working out for us or Reza.”

“I am not going back to that! I am the chief of police; I swear an oath to protect people. To help! I did not sign up to allow some sick, twisted abomination of a woman to murder, because it is cold out! I have a son and I refuse to have him live, to know that world!”

“We’ll do better.” Darius says quietly.

“How?”

“We care. We have,” he nods to the new employees.

“Ah. Yes. This is true.”

Reza returns with Erik, and he is still talking madly.

“And then Papa got sick all over her, and she never came back over.”

“We’ll go back, but only if we take the long way.”

“Stop at every market.”

“And inns. Reza needs his rest.”

“The weather is changing.”

“Yes.”

Nadir picked up his luggage. This isn’t how he wanted his time off to end, but he did miss the bed he had at the palace.

“We won’t need cat testers anymore.”

“I mean that Siamese bastard is looking rough.”

“You draw the line at murdering people, but cats are fair game?”

“They’re cats.”

Erik looks forward to a philosophical debate, but he doesn’t not want to annoy Nadir, because the main reason he came for him is because his opium stash ran out.

“So, tell me about this woman you threw up on . . .”


	4. Sorelli Enters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> don't care so much for this chapter, but I needed it written so I could move forward. That's what my brain told me anyway.

Several throw pillows are set out in rows of five along the floor and they fill the room. Sorelli throws a heavy blanket over the pillows. Once satisfied, she brings out a tray, on it are several different types of narcotics.

Charles comes into the room and drops to the floor onto the blanket. Sorelli turns off the light and turns on an orb that changes colors.

“Pick your poison.” She gestures to the tray. He picks up a bag and pours the contents into his mouth.

“I hate you on shrooms. You moan about that damn troll.” She chooses cocaine. She throws her head and shakes her body a bit.

“I’ll get it one day.”

She lays down next to him.

“I got fired the other day.” Sorelli says while following the pink color of sound. She draws numbers and connects them with shapes.

“Why did you give up dancing? You were good. Better than Meg.”

“You know why.”

“I don’t.”

“Move over talent, Baby is here.” She spits to the left and hisses, “baby.”

“Meg has an entirely different style and training than you. You can’t compare yourself to that.”

“While we were at the Opera House in Paris, I was going to be looked over. ‘O.G’ told the managers he’d eat their hearts, if they didn’t make ‘His Meg,’ the lead dancer.”

“The managers never listened to Erik.”

“The previous ones did. They were the ones who made Meg the lead. She doesn’t know Erik did that. Just one more one way he owns her and fucks me over. I _know_ he told Christine he stopped fucking Meg, which I also know he lied about.”

“How’d you know that?”

“I keep close tabs on my enemies. I know everything about his daily routine. I also know that there’s no other reason for you to be _here_.”

“I want to be here.”

“Liar.”

He pulls her close, kisses her roughly. She breaks it off, hits him several times, he pushes her away, hard. She breaks out into laughter.

He crawls towards her. He stops. He hears a low growl. His hackles go up. He feels goosebumps form. It’s here. That thing. The Troll. He rushes forward and lies on top of Sorelli, protecting her. She’s laughing so hard it’s compromising her breathing.

“He’s here.” He whispers.

“Oh, no.” She paws at him. She giggles. She pulls at the fabric of his shirt.

“The knife, the knife! I’m going to kill it.” He’s determined.

“Troll meat.” She licks her lips.

“We’ll skin it.”

Charles looks around wildly. He dashes on all fours to the kitchen. He opens a drawer and he madly sorts through the utensils. He cuts his hands and picks up the knife he’s looking for, he lowers himself to the floor and moves slowly back to the other room.

There is pounding on the door. Sorelli ‘shh’s’ the noise. She sits up. Charles dives forward and rolls into the room.

The pounding on the door continues and a voice calls out. Sorelli covers her mouth in horror.

“They found us.”

“They know.”

She crawls to the door and gets up on her knees and rises slowly. She turns the handle and opens the door slightly.

A woman is on the other side.

“Sorelli, I know it’s late, but I can borrow sugar.”

Sorelli stares at her. She opens the door wider and the other woman walks forward.

“Wow, what kind of party are we having.”

Sorelli says nothing as she watches her. Charles walks in front of her. The woman takes a step back. He slices her throat before thrusting the blade into her.

When she falls to the ground Sorelli comes to her side, looks up at Charles before she starts to tear the woman a part. She tugs, pulls, rips, bites her clothing. Charles watches her silently. Sorelli raises a bloody hand, offering a bit of bleeding flesh.

\--

* * *

Charles sits up. Sorelli is asleep in his arms. He lies back down. He exhales. This is nice. He kisses the top of her head and he adjusts his body into a more comfortable position. In this moment he allows himself to be happy.

Sorelli starts to stir. She yawns and looks up.

“Breakfast?”

He nods.

She sits up to allow him to stand, he then offers his hand and uses it to help pull herself up. They hold hands as they leave the bedroom and walk down the hallway. The walls are smeared with blood. Handwritten messages are left by Charles and Sorelli to each other, blood love notes.

The kitchen floor has blood smears, the kitchen sink and the wall behind it are marred by flesh and blood. The woman’s hand is still stuck in the garbage disposal. Sorelli breaks out into laughter.

“I forgot about that!”

“It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

He tries to pull the stump out of the sink, but it is still caught.

“Need one of those turkey carvers.”

“I have a bone saw.”

“Or that.”

Sorelli plays with the stump and giggles like a child. Charles ponders.

“We could go out for breakfast.”

“Can you give me a, hand?” She laughs at her joke.

“That only works when you free it.”

“When we find my bone saw.”

Charles claps his hands together.

“Breakfast!”

\--

* * *

It was Sorelli’s suggestion that they merely change their clothing, not bathe. Blood is their signature look and now that they are a thing again, she feels that it needs to be embraced again.

They found a quiet little French restaurant serving breakfast, grabbed a table and enjoyed the horror and confusion of their fellow patrons.

“Do you remember that sweet little café in Nice?” Sorelli asks, leaning forward, her chin supported by hands. She gives Charles her full attention.

“Which one?”

“The one we burned down after we had sex in the kitchen.”

“I feel like we did that a lot.”

“This one had the dog we adopted.”

“The Akita!”

“You kept wanting to name her Carver.”

“Strong name.”

“She _hated_ Erik.”

“She knew he was Satan.”

“She could have been more friendly with me.”

“You were mean to her.”

“Because she was a bitch to me.”

“I feel like there was mutual antagonizing.”

“No.”

“Anyway, what about the café?”

“This place reminds me of it.”

She bites her lip and smiles fiendishly.

* * *

“What is this.” Jules motions with his Martini. Charles looks down at himself,

“A suit.” He shrugs and flips his hands over in the, “um, confused,” motion.

“Did you attend the Red Wedding?”

Nadir remains silent but watches his friends exchange. He has a sick feeling he knows what happened. There was an interesting arson/homicide case that he and his partner were assigned to that morning. It does not help that Sorelli is wearing a white dress and the blood-stained skin stands out even more.

“Intense weekend.”

“Our disposal is backed up.”

“Nothing a bone saw can’t fix.”

Soreill and Charles clink their glasses before throwing back. This sets off Nadir’s alarm bells. He feels a sting throughout his core. “Murder, murder, murder,” screams inside his mind. He feels nauseated. He pushes his beer forward, no longer able or has the stomach to drink.

“A bone saw?” Jules slowly starts to understand. He shrugs. He does not mind murder; he finds that it solves problems with difficult clients and code enforcers.

Meg on the other hand very much minds murder and loses her ability to drink and stares into her hands, hoping that all is a misunderstanding, and everything is just a dark joke.

“You need a bone saw for that?” Nadir does not hide his contempt.

“Yes.”

“You know the disposal is not a blender.”

"We were high.” Sorelli says lightly. Her eyes are full of fun and laughter. He shudders. She really is like a female Erik.

“Like I said, intense weekend.” He hails for more wine.

“Will you help me hide a body.” Meg sings quietly.

“These caves are getting full.” Raoul says. Meg and Raoul shake their heads. Why are these people their friends?

“Is there something you’d like to confess?” Nadir contemplates whether he should arrest them right there.

“I hate this wine; I’m drinking it sarcastically.”

“Charles, lets have a private chat.” Nadir stands up roughly and Charles follows Nadir away from the bar. Erik arrives as they leave.

“Miss anything?” He takes the stool next to Meg

“Charles and Sorelli killed someone this weekend while high and tried to dispose of the body with the garbage disposal.” Jules said in a bored tone.

“That’s not practical.” He scoffs.

“That’s your take way?” Meg says incredulously. She’s offended by the lack of concern for human life.

“I’m surprised they didn’t try a blender,” Raoul says. Erik and Jules laughter sound like barking dogs. Raoul feels his face turn pink. He throws his brandy back and hails for more.

“You’re awful, both of you.” Meg shakes her head. She clenches her fist and scrunches up the fabric on her dress.

“Oh, get a sense of humor, baby.” Sorelli says hotly.

Meg says nothing. Her body vibrates with anger. She closes her eyes and bites her lip. She does not want to be here and sings her comfort song inside her mind. Erik, watching her, seeing her unusual display of anger leans in.

“What’s wrong?”

She says nothing and shakes her head.

He touches her shoulder for comfort.

“I-“

She is cut off by the arrival of Nadir and Charles.

“I never made a promise to you and I don’t owe you anything. Does friendship mean nothing to you?” Charles does not look at Nadir. He crosses his arms angrily.

“I ignore everything you’ve done that’s a crime. I should have arrested you ten times yesterday.”

“Thank you.” He says bitterly.

“I can’t keep ignoring things. This is serious.”

“We’ll be more discreet.”

“Charles.” Nadir says exasperated.

“Your favoritism is beautiful.”

Nadir rubs his temples. That was fair. Erik has done much worse and he always turns a blind eye and spares him a lecture.

“You’re my friend, my brother. I love you. I just want you to be a decent person, you put me in an awkward position when you do this.”

“I’ll try harder to be someone you can be proud of, Papa.”

“Charles.”

“I’m done with this conversation. Take me or leave me.”

“Take.” Nadir sighs. He throws his head backwards and he exhales.

“There we are then.” He clinks his glass with Nadir’s beer.

Meg leaves the bar quickly and quietly. Raoul and Erik watch her leave. Erik picks up his glass and follows her out of the bar.

Meg paces outside. Her fists are clenched in rage and she curses and mutters angry nonsense. Erik grabs her by the shoulders and stops her movement.

“I’ve never seen you like this.” A part of him is aroused by this.

“Someone died.” She is nearing hysterics. Her voice at a higher octave than normal.

“That’s why you’re upset.”

“Yes!”

He embraces her. He rubs her back. He has no emotion and does not care. Meg responds by relaxing. Her muscles lose tension. She feels comfort and stays in his arms. Erik finishes his drink and casually throws the empty glass to the side. Meg looks up.

“What was that?”

“Sssh,” he rubs her chin with his thumb.

Nadir, Charles, Jules, Sorelli and Raoul join them.

“This place is beat. We are bouncing. You in?” Sorelli asks.

“Are we?” Erik asks Meg. He lifts her head in nodding motion.

“Yes.” She is helpless.

“I’m passing.” Nadir walks off in the opposite direction.

“Nadir?” Erik calls after his friend.

“Not now.” He responds through gritted teeth.

“So, who’s ready to party?” Sorelli claps her hands.


	5. Nadir Goes To War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My friends do actually fight over who is the best friend. . . .

**Nice, 1900**

Sorelli looks at herself in the mirror. Her long red hair is pulled back into an elegant braided bun. She painted her lips blood red and her eyeshadow just enough to accent and highlight her emerald eyes.

She turns the handle on the faucet, cups water with her hands and drinks. She looks back into the mirror. Her eyes narrow and she hisses at her reflection.

“Bitch.”

She grips the edges of the sink tightly. She sucks in air through gritted teeth.

“Whore.”

She spits at her reflection.

“Irrelevant.”

She sniffs deeply.

She turns her head to the side slightly and smiles brightly.

\--

* * *

Sorelli walks past the strangers writhing and moaning. If they cannot handle the drug, then it’s their fault they die. It is one of those post gala parties. Some fool invites the elite they want to impress into their overpriced loft, and everyone takes a hit of whatever narcotic cocktail the host designed.

Sorelli has no idea what it was, but she is not feeling much change. Charles and Jules went to the back room and have been staring at their hands for the last hour, Nadir left when drugs were thrown around and that left Sorelli alone on babysitting duty.

“Just make sure they don’t jump off the balcony. We’re on the 45th floor and I can’t bring them back.” Nadir said to her as he left in the elevator.

She has much bigger fish to fry. She has been preparing all night for this. Erik is on the floor. He Is motionless. He lost his suit jacket at some point which is highly uncharacteristic and will became a thing of war later for sure.

His mask is still on and his sexual magnetism is at full swing. Sorelli shudders. She takes a deep breath before she walks forward and then sits down next to him. He makes no indication he knows of her presence.

She looks over. There is something darkly attractive about not being able to see his face. The masks he wears are often intense. They fit his personality and moods of the moment. Tonight, it’s all black. She licks her lips before lying down next to him.

She feels hot electricity all over her body. She moves her hand towards his and lightly taps his fingers with her fingertips. No response. She stares at the ceiling above her. She turns over onto her side to face him. He’s still looking up at the ceiling.

_He could be unconscious._

She reaches out to touch his mask, before she makes contact, he catches her wrist. She gasps. He squeezes her wrist hard. She moans slightly, it hurts so good. He still refuses to look at her, to acknowledge her any further.

She sits up abruptly and with her other hand swings at him, he catches that, sitting up too. Now she’s got his attention. She stares into his mask. Heat rising, her heart beating faster, her breathing haggard. She pulls at her wrists, he offers resistance. She smiles, she manipulates motion and she lands on top of him.

“Physics, baby.” She sings teasingly before she kisses his masked lips. He grabs her arms. He is not gentle, and she likes it. She places both of her palms on the sides of his masked face. She stares deeply into him.

She kisses his masked lips again, more aggressively this time. She slowly moves one hand down to his belt and unbuckles it before working on freeing his person.

Goosebumps erupt on her skin as her eyes and mind scream with pleasure. Erik flips them around, so he’s on top of her. He moves his hands from her arms to her throat. He massages her skin, she responds with intoxicated pleasure, she is outside of herself.

He moves his thumbs to a certain spot on her throat and presses. He turns his head, like a curious animal and watches. He releases. He moves her head to the left, to the right. He lifts her chin and then lets go.

He rests his forehead against her.

\--

* * *

Sorelli holds her head high as she enters the dance studio. She drops her bag and finds the usual spot she works from. The other girls start to enter one by one. She smiles. Today is her day to shine. She made sure of that.

She stretches and waits for the announcement.

“I’d like everyone’s attention.” Their choreographer waves everyone to come forward and stop their movements. Sorelli smiles, she tries to practice her,” oh, me? Thank you,” face.

“We have a new dance captain. Lorne had to leave unexpectedly.”

Sorelli bites her lip to keep from laughing. She knows all about Lorne’s unexpected leave.

“Rose Childs,” and the rest of the words melt away. A loud pop and distance ring overtake Sorelli’s ears. Her knees threaten to give out. She grabs onto the bar to keep from falling.

She did not fuck that freak for nothing. She wants blood. She pushes herself from the bar, grabs her bag and storms out, ignoring those calling out her name.

* * *

He expected her. She rages. He is amused. They move like a dancing couple. She pushes him backwards with fury and he pulls her along and spins her around. She can feel him smiling behind that stupid mask and it only raises her ire further.

She swings at him, he catches her arm, he swings her around, and then dips her. His arm around her waist.

“You stupid fuck.” She says through clenched teeth. It’s impressive that she can speak without moving her lips. She’s not even trained. He stands her up straight.

He caresses her cheek with his gloved hand, she attempts to slap his hand away, he catches and twists her hand and pulls her into an embrace. Her back is pressed against his chest and he places his hand onto her, just below her throat.

“That was supposed to be mine. I’m better than all of them!” Sorelli hisses.

“I know.” He teases.

“Why.”

“Why not?”

She jabs him her elbow, stomps on his feet. He releases her. She spins around.

“This is war.” She says each word carefully, slowly. Her eyes are narrowed, hands balled into tight fists.

“Your move.” He’s excited.

\--

* * *

Sorelli tears through the penthouse like a tornado. She throws the bookcase to the side, kicks the fallen, she picks up sculpture and destroys everything that gets into her way.

“Babe?” Charles comes back into the room, holding two glasses of wine. He assumed they would be celebrating. He watches her with confused concern. She drops the sculpture.

“That stupid cunt is going to pay for this.” She is out of breath. Carver, their Akita comes out from her hiding spot. She greets Charles, but her tail is still between her legs, and she whines.

“The property damages?” He tries to keep his tone light. She rages. She storms up to him, hits him. Carver barks and growls and tries to defend her master.

“You’re so damn cute, babe.” She hisses.

“Shouldn’t you be damaging _his_ property?” Charles frowns at the room. He just purchased a few of the damaged goods.

“Oh, I intend to.” She says. She bows her head, rubs her face and shakes it as she throws her head back. She smiles. She has found her center again. There is a soft knocking on their door. Charles hands the glasses to Sorelli, she drinks from both and follows Charles to the door.

Meg is on the other side, she looks like a ghost. Charles steps to the side and allows her in.

“Oh. Oh. What happened?” Meg looks around the room.

“Hurricane Sorelli. It’s fine. What’s up, kid?”

“I,” she starts and then stops. Meg looks at the ground. Charles touches her arm.

“I’m stupid.”

“Yes, we knew this.” Sorelli says. Charles shoots her a glare, before turning to Meg, offering a sympathetic look.

“Come here,” he leads her to the sofa, where she sits. She places her hands onto her lap and squeezes her fingers hard. Her knuckles turn white.

“What’s wrong, sweet thing?”

“I-I don’t know where else to go.” She’s on the verge of tears. Sorelli remains silent. Charles kneels in front of her, hands on her knees. He has his Father Hat on.

“What happened?”

“I went to the doctor today. I thought I had the flu.”

“Not the flu then?”

She shakes her head.

“Worse?”

She nods.

“I mean no. I mean, I wish it was the flu.”

Sorelli gets it. Her ears and eyes perk up.

“You’re pregnant.” She squeals with delight. She giggles like a school girl.

“Yes.” She feels hot tears run down her cheeks.

“Oh.”

Charles is at a loss.

“Well, fuck.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Want brandy?” He doesn’t know what else to do. Sorelli comes forward.

“Now dear, we need to show a little bit more compassion and sympathy. She’s a young single mother now. Of course, you’ll need a stable home and support system.”

“I would like that.”

“And you’ll have it, right my darling?”

Charles nods.

“You’re welcome to stay here. Of course, you are.” Sorelli gets at Meg’s level and hugs her, she kisses the top of her head.

“We’re family here, aren’t we?”

“All we ask of you is to respect our space.”

“Of course.”

“Now let’s get you cleaned up, yes?” She helps Meg up and takes her to the spare bedroom. Sorelli goes into the bathroom and looks into the mirror.

She laughs.

“Check.”

\--

* * *

Soreilli leans against the door.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you.” She looks at her nails. Meg is on the sofa trying to remain calm and cool and quiet. Charles is casually drinking. He has no dog in this fight.

“Open the fucking door.” Erik says on the other side.

“I don’t think so. You’re not in a good head space, how do I know you won’t do something irrational or hurt her?” She feigns sincerity.

“Meg! I need to talk to you!” He pounds on the door.

“Do you want to talk to him? She doesn’t want to talk to you.” Sorelli sighs annoyed.

“Just let him in babe,” Charles picks up a book from the coffee table and flips through it,” he won’t hurt her. Physically.”

“He might upset Carver.” She pouts. Carver is currently resting by Charles’s feet. She perks up at the sound of her name.

“She has the constitution for Erik.” He says eyes still on the book.

“It’s on you, babe.” She opens the door and curtsies. Erik ignores her and goes to Meg.

They speak in hushed voices for a long time. Sorelli does not interfere. She watches from a distance. Erik does all the moves. He holds her close, squeezes her hand, sings softly. Poor baby didn’t stand a chance. He is **_the_** master of manipulation; he doesn’t have to _try._

That’s what she was counting on. They leave together

“Think they’ll make it?” Charles asks.

“We’ll see.”

* * *

Sorelli goes out of her way the next five months to be Meg’s main support system. She takes her shopping, helps her design her nursery, they make lists and lists of names.

“Erik is set on the name,’ Reza,’ for a boy and I agree.”

“What a nice sentiment.”

Erik is away now; he went to Sweden with Christine. Sorelli came right over, to spare her friend of being alone.

Meg has been having trouble sleeping and Sorelli offered to make her a special elixir to help her sleep. She hands her friend a steaming mug of brown liquid. Meg smiles and takes it without question. She blows into the mug.

“What Erik usually gives me tastes so foul. It works, but,” she makes a face.

“All you have to do is add sugar.” Sorelli says gently.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“My pleasure, dear.” Sorelli reaches forward and places her hand on top of hers. Both smile.

“Drink up, honey. You have to finish it all for the aide to work.”

Meg nods and slowly starts to drink from the mug.

\--

* * *

Hours later Meg wakes up. She sits up, her heart is racing, full of fear and panic. She touches her nightgown and then turns on the light. She throws the covers back. Blood. Lots of blood. She looks down, then at her hand.

She screams.

Sorelli runs into the room. Meg is hysterical, she is not in the same world anymore. Sorelli grabs her arms and tries to calm her. Meg is inconsolable.

Erik returns on the next train. Sorelli greets him before he goes into to see Meg.

“Such a terrible tragedy,” she says. He pauses and looks at her.

“I guess she just wasn’t fit to be a mother. Why not her, God?” She shakes her head. She rubs his arm.

“If you need friend, I’m here.” He ignores her and enters the room; he closes the door behind him.

\--

* * *

Sorelli turns around and Erik grabs her, he pushes her backward, hard, into the wall. She smiles and doesn’t hide her pleasure. He brings his hands to her throat.

“What? All I did was follow one of _your_ recipes.” She says innocently. Her mouth forms an “o” in mock horror.

“Oh no! Did I mix up the poison and tea? How silly of me!”

He pulls her back and then slams her back into the wall.

“Does this mean I win?”

He begins to squeeze her throat. Her vison becomes blurry and when she is about to succumb to darkness, he releases her.

“You would have made a terrible father anyway. I freed you of a burden you don’t need or want. You’re a wandering spirit, Erik. That would have tied you down and killed you.”

His hands are still at her throat, but instead of strangling her, he massages, caresses.

“You’re welcome.” She blows him a kiss.

He takes a step back, then he slams her arms behind her on the wall and moves forward. He presses into her and lowers his masked face towards her neck

\--

* * *

**New York, Present**

“I didn’t care so much for that bar last night.” Sorelli and Charles are wrapped up into each other. They are at his home, on the floor. The lights are off and music plays softly in the background. Just loud enough to be pleasant white noise.

“No?”

“The drinks were overpriced and made wrong. Babe, we should do something about that.”

“I like that bar.” He kisses her. She wrangles free of his hold, he goes after her. She loves the chase more than the capture.

“I think it would be fun.” He catches her by the wrist and pulls her back into him.

“What would be fun?”

“We didn’t start the fire.” She bites his lips until they bleed. She sucks the blood before kissing him passionately.

\--

* * *

Nadir opens the door to his house. Two police officers are waiting for him.

“Berry? Thom?”

“I’m sorry, Khan.” Thom says. He holds up his badge.

“What is this?”

“They found your badge and DNA at the latest arson. We have to take you in.”

“What? Berry, Thom you know me.”

“We have to, mate.”

“This is insane. You know me. I would never do that. This is some kind of prank right? It’s the first Monday of the month isn’t it?”

They do not laugh.

“This is serious.”

“I hope to God you’re being framed.”

“This can’t be happening.”

“That’s what we said.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Thom has the handcuffs in his hands.

“Thom, seriously I didn’t do anything.”

“I really want to believe you, I really do. This hurts me.”

“No yet it doesn’t.”

Nadir punches him in the throat and quickly grabs the fabric of his shirt to knock Thom into Berry before running

\--

* * *

Jules opens the door and Nadir rushes in, he pushes Jules aside, locks the door and lowers himself to the floor, back pressed against the door.

“Hello.” Jules says annoyed.

“I should have arrested her last night.”

“Sorelli? What happened?”

Nadir is about to answer when something catches his eye. He stands iup, pushes past Jules and looks at the television. His image is on the screen, with a very friendly “WANTED.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Jules turns up the volume.

“I told you, Sorelli.”

“This is why I choose to remain unimportant. Never have to go to war with crazy. You all should try it some time.”

“Noted.”

“Does this mean you can’t go out with us tonight?”

Nadir stares at Jules stoically.

“I mean, it is your turn to pay.”

He continues to stare.

“So, you came to me instead of Erik. Does that mean _I’m_ your best friend?”

Nadir says nothing and throws himself onto the sofa. He watches the television silently.

“It does, doesn’t it? You came to me, meaning you trust me more and know I can offer you safe harbor. I always knew we were closer; we didn’t have to show off or call attention to it. Erik was always so in your face and loud, it was obvious he’s jealous of what we have.”

Nadir exhales and shakes his head.

“You’re the only one she has no vested interest in.”

“And we’re best friends.”

“She and Erik are the same person and have a magnetic pull of hate and sex. Can’t go to him. She has Charles trapped in her dragon’s lair. Meg, Christine and Raoul are pathetic and weak, easy prey. You’re my dark horse.”

“And your best friend.”

“Fine. Jules Bernard, you are my best friend of all friends. Here is your best friendship crown of invisibility.” He walks over and places an invisible crown of best friendship onto his head.

“I knew it!

“Can we focus now?”

“Of course, my best friend.”

Nadir sighs.

“Okay, so let’s come up with a strategy.”


	6. Mr. Fix It.

**Paris, 1905**

Jules and Nadir sit down at the table in the private room of the restaurant. Nadir takes note that despite the table being fit for eight more people, that there are only two place settings.

“Where are the others?” Nadir picks up the menu and the immediately regrets that decision and puts it down.

“Others?”

“Erik, Charles, Raoul, I guess. You know, the people we usually hang out with?”

“Oh. Yeah. No.”

“No?”

“It’s just us, you and me. Bestie and Bestie.”

“Right. Bestie.” Nadir mutters.

“Because we are.”

“Mm.”

“Say it.”

“I’m your best friend.” He says automatically and stoically.

* * *

**New York, Now**

Charles watches the news bite in stunned silence. He turns the volume up and isn’t sure what to think. At first, he thinks it’s a dream. He pinches himself until he draws blood. Then he assumes it must be strange hallucinations, he tends to have those depending on what and how much of what he has taken or drank.

“This is too vivid.” He says. He knows that Sorelli and he have been having a little too much fun with matches and other things lately, and he remembers that at least one building being burned down was them.

“Nadir doesn’t break the law so blatantly. He hates breaking the law. We get lectures every time we use.”

_“I am an officer of the law; I cannot be a part of this.”_

_“Are you placing us under arrest?”_

_“No, but I don’t want to know or see. Take it to the back room or I have to leave.”_

_“Sure thing, Papa.”_

Charles considers calling Nadir, but he’s probably ditched the phone, in case they are tracking him. Technology is getting so advanced Charles can't keep up with what is actually real or still science fiction.

“Good morning, good morning,” Sorelli sings brightly as she enters the room. She comes up to Charles from behind on the sofa and wraps her arms around his neck and shoulders.

“What are we watching? News? Boo. Is the world ending yet? Save you a seat by the fire.” She sighs and watches the screen.

“Nadir is being hunted for arson and murder.”

“Does he have the constitution for murder? Feel like he’d cry or kill himself afterwards.”

“He has the constitution to ignore it. He ever tell you about the shah he had to serve?”

“That would require talking to him, and I just do not have an open position for new friends or acquaintances now. I had to send so many rejections.”

“There’s a warrant. They are serious.”

“Can we watch something else?”

“Arson.” Charles says.

“And murder.” She tries to sound spooky.

“Two things he would never do.”

“Is there a point to this? Can we change the channel?”

“That’s my friend.”

“Yay.” She claps sarcastically.

“He wouldn’t do this.”

“Are you broken?”

“Did you do this?”

“Do what?”

He gestures to the TV. She scoffs.

“I believe it says they found his DNA.”

“It’s an easy thing, to collect that. I mean what would you really need? A cigarette, used tissue?”

“You think I would frame your friend?”

“Did you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because he pissed you off.”

She laughs and steps away from the sofa.

“He has to matter first.”

Charles stands up and turns to face her.

“He threatens you.”

“Really? Him? Oh, aren’t we so cute.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“He wanted to arrest you the other night. Whether is sticks or not, that’s a power you don’t have that he has over you.”

“He wanted to arrest _you_.”

Charles shakes his hand in the air. He has to think. He starts to pace the room. Sorelli watches him with vague interest. He stops, he grabs his jacket and heads to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m fixing this.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry, it won’t implicate you.”

He smiles before he slams the door.

\--

* * *

Jules has tea and a selection of snacks laid out on the coffee table. From cookies to triangle shaped mini sandwiches. He had his staff get the best wittle vittles. Nadir appears, he is much more relaxed and changed into the least fancy spare outfit he could find, dark slacks, and a coral long sleeved button shirt.

“Hungry?”

“That shower is amazing. My hot water usually shuts off after 30 minutes and it’s on a timer.” Nadir bends down and picks up a triangle.

“Really?” Jules watches Nadir desperately.

“Yeah, it’s terrible. I think it’s supposed to save money on the bill, which I understand, but when you need a hot shower, just a fantasy.”

“I don’t think my hot water has ever run out.”

“I am but a peasant. “Nadir pours himself a cup of tea.

“So, what do you think?” Jules asks as he sits down.

“I don’t know. I need a minute to process. She is completely mad you know. Erik is bad enough, _and_ he’s getting **_worse_** , but she’s more like a snake now.”

“No, I mean the food. The spread.” He gestures to the spread before them.

“Oh. It’s nice, thank you.”

“I bet Erik never does this. Another reason we’re besties.”

“True, but Erik also doesn’t _eat_. I honestly don’t know what his diet consists of. I’ve never _seen_ him eat. I’ve never seen him eat.” Nadir takes a minute to process that. He searches his memory just to fact check this.

“You know, when he stayed with me, my staff said the same thing. He always refused food and got angry and violent when they asked too many questions about it.”

“Does he **_need_** to eat?”

“ ** _We_** do.”

Which is true. They still need some form of sustenance for energy to survive, despite their complicated existence.

“I want to stop talking about Erik.” Jules says annoyed.

“You brought him up.”

“Sorelli!”

“There we go.”

“Beat her with a stick?”

“That doesn’t help my situation.”

“Yeah, but it would be fun. She’d be a piñata.”

Nadir isn’t sure how to take that. He frowns.

“Humans are not made of candy and toys, Jules.”

“Is she human?”

“Jules.”

Nadir jumps. His secret burner he always forgets that he carries with him goes off. It’s tiny and compact, it gets lost in his pockets. He pulls it out.

“What’s that?”

“My burner phone. I forgot I had it with me.”

“You have a secret second phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I forgot.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Erik,” before Nadir can answer Jules grabs it and throws it against the wall and it shatters.

“Could be a cop.”

Nadir shakes his head.

“You’re still my best friend, Jules.” Nadir says lamely. He thought Jules would grow out of this phase. Apparently, it is a 200-year phase.

“More tea?” Jules offers eagerly.

Nadir holds out his cup.

“We should have a secret handshake.”

“I’m good with not.”

“It’ll be fun! Something only we know.”

“I understand the concept.”

“What about language?”

“I’ll teach you my mother tongue.”

“Which is?”

“You would know it as Farsi.”

“Does Erik speak it?”

Nadir sighs and leans back.

“He speaks it better than most native speakers.”

“Of course, he does.” Jules says bitterly.

“Yeah, really annoyed by that too.”

* * *

Charles pulls up to the building. Hs passenger is eager. He wants everything to burn, burn, burn. He lights a match, throws it out the window, lights a match, throws it out the window.

“Do your thing.” Charles smiles and shoots a gun gesture. The other man giggles and he gets out of the car, still throw lit matches on the ground as he runs up and enters the building. Charles whistles and taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

He turns on the radio to classical and he moves his hands along with the music. In the background there is smoke coming from the building and young man returns. Charles leans forward and opens the glove box, he takes out a gun.

“What’s that? We robbing?”

“Not today, sweet thing.”

He casually attaches the silencer and he motions for the other man to lean into him.

“It’s actually not a real gun. It’s a bong, really looks authentic, no?” He twirls it with his fingers.

“Oh, far out.”

“Oh, I know. I like to collect novelty items. Interesting objects. I have a few of these. I’m willing to part with it as a payment for your services.”

“Seriously, dude?”

“Seriously, dude.”

“Wait. Let’s trade places. Don’t you want to feel like you have power? You’ve earned that.”

Charles gets out the car and they both walk around and re-enter. Charles spins the gun around with his fingers.

“How does it feel? Nice car, right?”

“Good!” He pretends to drive and makes noises.

He lets the gun rest on his thumb.

“Why don’t you take a hit, to celebrate? It’s already loaded, so to speak.”

“Really?”

“All you have to do is pull the trigger, isn’t that clever? Gives you the real feel. Go on.”

The young man puts the gun into his mouth and pulls the trigger, he dies instantly. Charles places a folded piece of paper into his coat pocket and taps it. He gets out of the car.

He pulls out his mobile and presses a number.

“Oh my God, is this the police? I don’t know what happened, he’s just did it! He blew his fucking head off!” Charles says in panic and hysterics.

\--

* * *

Jules and Nadir are on the floor sitting cross legged, wearing homemade makeshift crowns.

“Hello, my name is Nadir,” Nadir says in Farsi.

“Hello, my couch is Tuesday,” Jules says in awkward Farsi.

“You said my couch is Tuesday.”

“Oh. That’s what I was feeling.”

“You said it wrong.”

“Maybe say it slower.”

“Hello.” Nadir says slowly.

“Hello.” Jules says.

“My name is,” Nadir says slightly slower.

“My couch is,”

Nadir shakes his head.

“My _name, name,”_ He emphasizes.

“Name.” Jules says slowly.

“Hello, my name is,” Nadir says.

“Hello, my name is Jules.”

Nadir claps.

“Yes, yes.”

Charles enters and pauses. He turns his head to the side.

“What is this.” He points up and down. He does not like it.

“Long story.” Nadir says.

“You wouldn’t understand, best friend thing.” Jules says.

“Erik’s here?” Charles looks around.

“Just don’t.” Nadir takes the crown off.

“Have you seen the news lately?”

Charles walks over to the sofa, picks up the remote and changes the channel and turns up the volume.

“ . . . committed suicide. Papers were found on Wilson, he is responsible for a string of arson around the city. He appears to have framed the homicide detective Nadir Khan, originally thought to have been believed the primary suspect. All charges against Detective Khan have been dropped.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Charles says, as he turns his head to face Nadir.

Nadir turns into a ghost, as much as he can with his tan skin. He feels the world spin and go sideways.

“That’s good, you’re not a fugitive anymore and can go back amongst them.” Jules says.

“I figured it’s the least I could do.” Charles winks.

Nadir cannot be hearing this.

“How’d you do it?”

“Mentally ill pyromaniac. Needed to score and wanted to burn something. I’m nothing, but a good Samaritan.” He places his palm over his heart.

“And how’d you get him to” Jules has hand form a gun and pretends to shoot his head and dies.

“I told him it was a novelty bong.”

They both laugh.

“You don’t need to _sing,_ to get people to do what you want.”

“Ah, I love it.”


	7. Another Intermission with Jules and Nadir

Nadir hates these parties. He is not rich nor is he elite, nor can he make things happen for the struggling and wanting to be famous. He’s not the one you go to and meet at the crossroads and make a deal with.

Nadir also only holds a vague interest in art. Sure, he has a certain respect for those who do create, but Nadir is a man of the people. He’s a beer guy. Suds for you and your buds. Not this wine and cheese and art gala, kind of guy.

He loves going to the game with his partner from work and their friends, Thom and Berry. He attends charity events and volunteers. That’s what he prefers. That’s what he wants to be doing.

He could be at the sports bar with Hadley, his work Erik, Thom and Berry, watching tonight’s game. But no. He forgot he accepted the plus one invite. His Frenchies all asked him to be their plus one, separately obviously, but he got the point. They wanted him there.

Nadir has no idea what is happening. He’s in a room. A room that is set up like a living room of a penthouse. The rug’s top right corner is turned over, the sofa is on its side, and the living chair is missing a cushion and looks like it had been set on fire.

Nadir takes out his phone and texts to the group chat. He sends a photo and waits.

**Hadley**

**You said you were at an “art thing”**

**Me:**

**This is the “art thing”**

**Berry:**

**It’s a room. You’re in a room.**

**Thom:**

**Plutocrats are weird. Get out before they feast on your soul!**

**Hadley**

**Thom’s right. We need the diversity.**

**Thom**

**White people, man.**

Jules walks over. He has been mingling and needs a break to be away from the socialite parasites.

“The party is in the other room.” He says. Nadir nods to the furniture.

“This is the art, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a reasonably intelligent person.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t get it.”

“I’m fucking brilliant and I don’t get it either.”

“Is it a commentary on something?”

They walk closer. There is a placard in front of the “exhibit.”

“Don’t smoke?”

“The chair does look burnt.”

Nadir and Jules read the description.

“Bad Sandwich.”

They remain puzzled.

“Domestic violence?” Jules suggests. He gives the, what the hell, gesture.

“The husband had a rage and set the chair on fire?”

“Comes in from the kitchen, turns over the sofa,” Nadir walks around the sofa. He likes to physically walk through scenarios. Comes from his years as a police officer.

“Then he goes to the chair,” he walks over to the chair.

“Falls asleep. Catches fire, puts it out?” Jules finishes.

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know, maybe he tripped?” Jules indicates the corner of the rug.

“The body had to be carried out at some point. The wife?”

“Wait, how would she transfer the body without a mess?” Nadir looks around the floor.

“Maybe there were two rugs.” They both search for evidence of a second rug.

“If you were Margot, where you put the second rug?”

“Margot? Thinking more of a Celine.”

“Celine has a chef, an entire staff. Margot is a do it yourself kind of woman.”

“Okay. Henri is an alcoholic, because of course he is, so he probably drank before smoking, so he went to the mini bar.”

“That she got rid of because she hated it.”

“So, maybe.” Nadir walks to the left, looking closely at the floor.

“Here. Margot would put it here.” He points. Jules takes off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

“So, Henri comes home,” He runs around the sofa.

“Margot greets him. “Hello dear,” Nadir says his voice higher.

He takes his blazer off and throws it off somewhere to the side.

“Make me a drink, woman.” Jules says in German. Nadir goes to the bar and pantomimes going though the motions of mixing a drink and handing it over.

“I wish you didn’t drink so much.”

“Shut up, you fool woman. Now go make me a sandwich.”

“She killed him!” Nadir says, inspired and excited. Jules ‘oooooos’

“Sick of his abuse!”

“He’s dying!” Jules starts to stumble around the room, he touches the sofa, pretends that he pushed it over.

“The chair.” Nadir says.

“But the fire.”

Jules stops.

“We’ll figure this out.”

An hour passes.

Jules and Nadir are lying on their stomachs trying to piece it together.

“So far what we know is that Henri at some point flipped the sofa over and died.”

“Margot disposed of the body with the second rug.”

“The chair is what we need to fig.”

Jules lights up a cig.

“Maybe he was smoking.”

“Comes in smoking, drinks, passes out.”

Charles comes in from the other room.

“There you two are.”

“Then she put out the fire?” Nadir and Jules ignore Charles.

“Not for him. She didn’t want the entire penthouse to go down in flames.”

“What are you two talking about?”

“Margot and Henri!” Jules says irritably.

“Who?”

“Margot and Henri.” Nadir says.

“Yeah, but who are these people.”

“Uh, hello!” Jules gestures around the room.

“What?”

Sorelli walks over like a sad Charlie Brown.

“They ran out of those little cocktail weenies.”

“So, what about Margot and Henri?”

“Margot may have killed her husband, Henri.” Nadir says.

“When?”

“We missed a murder. Boo!” She pouts.

Charles understands now.

“You know this is an advert for a new vacuum for _Dyson_ , right?”

Nadir and Jules curse.

“I wasted an hour of my life for this!?”

“I’m going to Hadley’s.” Nadir storms off.

“Wait, so there was no murder?”

“I have no idea what is happening.” Charles shakes his head confused.


	8. Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdu8VapDn1Y  
> (Let it snow, a parody)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvCUvOAjhN8  
> (starkid, show stopping number)  
> have fun.

Nadir has been avoiding the others. Charles killed someone to protect Nadir after his girlfriend killed someone and framed Nadir. Charles and said girlfriend have been on an arson and murder spree, Sorelli chose Nadir to be their Patsy and Charles killed someone so that he would be free.

In Charles’s sick mind he honestly believed that he did the right thing, did right by his Nadir. Nadir whole heartedly disagrees.

That’s Nadir’s life. That’s what he has to deal with. Friends who _murder_ for him as “favors,” and want to be patted on the back for a job well done. Not this time.

He needs time away from the Frenchies. He declined the usual offer of drinks and vittles. He got off without questions asked with, “work thing, join tomorrow,” and that was the end of it.

He’s with his work buddies. Hadley’s home. She’s hosting a game night. Thom and Berry will join later, Hadley invited him over for some best friend time. Hadley didn’t obsess over Nadir. She didn’t need to call or text him every day.

She didn’t put him in awkward situations or ingest so many drugs that it would kill an entire nation, the way his Frenchies did on a nightly basis.

Hadley is completely sane. She values human life, has a daughter who is her entire universe. She’s from Jordan, got herself out of a bad situation, worked her way through life so she could afford college, landed a position in narcotics at their precinct, rocked the shit out of it for ten years before transferring to Homicide and thus becoming Nadir’s partner and white lighter version of Erik.

If people like Hadley still exist then there is hope out for there for the rest of world and Nadir feels better when she is around, even though it’s brief and he will miss her, because she will wither and die like humans do and he will curse himself at her funeral, for allowing himself to get close to someone outside his group of immortals.

That’s not going to be for years, but he feels the heavy weight of it each time she laughs or they get a new case and she is infuriated that it’s a child and the world know no fury like an enraged Hadley, she could give Erik lessons on how to execute an adult temper tantrum.

Nadir has several pieces of popcorn on his hoodie. He looks down. A piece of popcorn hits his eye.

“Ooh! Ten points! Woo!” Hadley throws her hands up in triumph.

He shakes the hoodie and the popcorn falls to the floor and into secret places of the couch.

“What’s up, buttercup? Why the frown, Charlie Brown? Bitches need stiches? Slut got you in a rut? I’m going to keep this going like a Boeing,” and she would have if Nadir didn’t interrupt her.

“Recent events have me down with this . . frown.”

“That means you’re good at your job.”

Nadir scoffs. Hadley leans forward and holds onto his hands.

“Babes, if your life isn’t being threatened, that means you either are terrible, new or you’re dirty. You do fucking good work. You help people, give people closure and put monsters away so they can never hurt anyone ever again. Bad people don’t like that. They want you to stop it. So, they find people they can use and fuck with your shit, like this kid. They want you scared, on the run and to quit.”

“So, this is a good thing?”

“Yes. Honestly, I get death threats every day. Someone tried to take my baby girl while she was at school. Shut that down quick.”

“Someone tried to abduct Sloane?”

“Years ago, but it’s fine. She’s a bitter.”

“I just didn’t like that he died.”

“Mentally ill. Cannot help that. People are sick. Sick people get used.”

“You think someone used the kid?”

“Uh, duh. He didn’t know you, you never arrested him. He’s been in and out of foster homes, juvie jails. Perfect target for some big shot killer fuck, who knows you.”

“So what you’re saying is, change my locks, sleep with Wendy and keep your daughter on a leash so she can bite my enemies.”

“People suck, you stand up to the sucky people and tell him it’s not OK, they hate that and you have to be prepared to walk in the fire. I’m there, so we can share the blanket.”

“Thank you.”

She squeezes his hands before releasing him. She leans back and exhales.

“So, can we talk about my problems now?”

Nadir puts something invisible down on his head.

“Therapy hat activated.”

“So, as you well know my baby girl,”

“Your sixteen-year-old daughter,”

“Shut your damned mouth. She’s two and in pigtails.”

“Anyway.”

“Anyway, she’s this science nerd big shot at school, and she’s taking on extra classes and her chemistry teacher is offering her more intensive private lessons.”

“Private lessons where?”

“His home.”

“Ring, Ring, Errrrrrrr-skrrrrrr.”

“The school signed off on this. Said it was official and appropriate.”

“In my experience young girls taking private lessons end up having a different kind of private lesson.”

“I know! I do not trust him.”

“What are we thinking?”

“Her next lesson is tomorrow. I suggest that you accompany me to a stakeout and we can monitor this situation.”

“I accept.”

\--

* * *

“That’s your stakeout outfit?”

Nadir is wearing a black hoodie and blue jeans. Hadley is wearing all black and a knitted black beanie. She scoffs and then gets into the passenger side of the side.

“Don’t you spend a lot of time with your Frenchies? They couldn’t let you borrow something?”

“They tend to wear a lot of tuxedoes. It’s this thing, after 3 your wear your, uh, who designs suits? The fancy ones that cost a house?”

Hadley shrugs.

“My ex wore a tracksuit to our wedding.”

Hadley fiddles with the radio and stereo system.

“It’s my turn to pick the music, so of course I brought an epic mix of music. Today’s theme is, “Yes,” and you are not prepared.”

She turns up the volume. _Daft Punk, Robot Rock_ is the first single that plays. Nadir smiles, and he looks over at the house, lights are on, blinds open. He can see the tutor, their target, walking around.

Hadley shakes her feet to the music, she is one with the sick beats and percussions.

“So far he’s just walking around. Sloane is alone with her books.” He has mini binoculars.

“Good. Wish I had a good excuse to just show up. I really want to be able to arrest him without looking crazy.”

“Or maybe it turns out he’s not the creepy pedophile we think he is.”

 _Frozen, Let it Go_ plays

Hadley starts pointing and moving her body madly.

_“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! I can’t take this heat anymore!”_

“Don’t remember those lyrics.” Nadir is amused.

 _“Here I am, in the middle of December, snow never bother me anyway!”_ Her singing voice is like broken glass in a garbage disposal. Nadir loves it. It gives him great comfort to be able to enjoy music without a foreboding or sinister feeling. There is no evil here. He can just relax and enjoy the display guilt free.

The next song, _For Good, Wicked._

“Oh! We have to do this one together, no exceptions! It’s our song!”

“I did not know we had a song.”

“Well, we have two actually. It’s this and _I want it that way,_ by BSB.”

“Don’t I get a say in “our song,”

“Shut up and sing your part! You’re Elsaphaba.”

“That’s too much pressure and my voice can’t do that. How about I just whistle her part and jazz hands?”

Hadley ignores him and does her best Kristin Chenoweth vocals. She sounds like a slaughtered pig in a funhouse. The night goes on and Nadir forgot how good it can be to just be with your best friend and doesn’t want the night to end.

Hadley stops dancing and grooving. She points to the house. The tutor has moved back to Sloane some time ago. He’s leaned into her, looking down at her work. Hadley holds her breath. She is ready to run.

Sloane closes her books and her tutor retreats to a different part of the room. A few seconds later, Hadley phone dings. Her daughter is ready to be picked up.

“Maybe he knows we’re watching, waiting.” Hadley has no trust in the man.

“Maybe he isn’t a creeper.”

“I do not trust him. There’s something about him. Who wants to tutor young underage girls at odd hours, _alone_? In the dark. Pedophiles.”

“We’ll keep vigilant watch over her, but I think maybe you’re just being overprotective.”

“I’d rather be overprotective and have a pissed off daughter than be naïve and trusting and have a daughter who is raped by her creeper teacher. I promised her, the day she was born that I would protect her, that no monster would hurt her. I’ll die before I fail her.”

“Get down! She’s outside now!”

They both slide down their seats as humanly possible. After a minute Nadir sits up and drives off.

“Did she see you?!”

“I don’t know!”

\--

* * *

Nadir has not been home more than five minutes when he answers a pounding on the door. He opens, and his Frenchies are there, none wait for the invitation and push him out of the way as they enter.

“Why do you live like this?” Charles asks as he opens the fridge and looks for alcohol.

“My chateau is being fumigated.”

“Where’s your wine?” Charles moves several items out of his way and throws some behind him. The others have to casually dodge to avoid being hit.

“I don’t drink wine.”

“I don’t drink beer, but I have it for you.” Charles snaps.

“I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Do you have gin or brandy?” Raoul asks as he settles in standing next to Nadir.

“I do not.”

Raoul pulls out a flask and drinks from it.

“We’re still cool,” he says flatly.

“Do you have any,” Jules looks like he’s about to start tweaking.

“I don’t have any illicit substances. I have beer.”

“Ah.” He curses in several languages that Nadir does not speak and opens random cabinets.

“I don’t have drugs, Jules.”

“You don’t even have sherry?” Charles is still holding out hope for something.

“I have mouthwash. You are welcome to that.”

“You don’t have any opium.”

“Jules, I haven’t had opium for like two hundred years. I was never that into it.”

“Not even the other?”

“No. Never had that. Tried it once and thought I was dying.”

“Bennies?”

“I do not have any drugs.” Nadir says very slowly.

“Who’s ‘Work E?’” A voice asks, dangerously close to his ear.

Nadir jumps. Erik has not said a word since he arrived. Erik is holding Nadir’s mobile. Nadir tries to grab but Erik moves in a circle and Nadir misses. He tries again but is foiled at each attempt.

“That’s my friend.”

“What does it mean? ‘Work E.’” He scrolls through messages.

“Well you know.” Nadir finally manages to take it.

“I do not.”

Nadir is not sure why this is making him feel so uncomfortable and nervous.

“She’s my work version of you. Kind of.”

“Meaning?”

“My work best friend.” He tries to keep his voice low, so Jules does not hear, he is not in the mood for that.

“Work best friend.” Nadir doesn’t need to see his friend’s face to know that beyond the mask he is annoyed. Or about to enter a rage. Nadir must play his next move very carefully.

“She reminds me of you, which is why I’m letting her get close. I can’t spend all day with you, so it’s nice to have someone like you around, when you are not.”

Erik says nothing, but the temperature of the room is not rising or lowering, so that’s a good sign, maybe.

“It’s a compliment. I compare all my human friends to you. If they worthy of me, I let them in.”

Still no response.

“Erik, if something is wrong,”

“Why didn’t you- “

“Jules you do not make yage! It’s a plant!” Charles shouts, cutting Erik off.

“He’s trying to make, what!?” Nadir forgets his conversation and tries to stop Jules from doing whatever the hell he is doing.

After handling that particular annoying Jules situation, the Frenchies finally settled for the living room and whatever Nadir put on the TV. He’s in the kitchen cleaning up the mess they created.

Erik leans against the sink counter.

“You avoided me.”

“I didn’t. Jules broke my spare phone.” Nadir throws broken dishes into the trash and turns to Erik.

“Why did you go to him in the first place?”

“I thought you were busy.”

“Not if you needed something.”

“Noted.”

“I don’t like having distance between us.”

“There’s no distance. We’re cool.”

“Hm.”

“Out of everyone, we’re good. You, and me. No distance, no issues, no problems. You, me, Khan, Your Last name, always.”

“Always.” Erik says, he sounds far away.

“Always, always.”

Erik still seems unconvinced.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever shared my opium with. _Willingly._ ”

“I don’t use opium anymore. I don’t want to risk my voice.”

“You missed the point.”

“I didn’t. And yes, that helps.”

A pause.

“You’re not going to hug me now, are you?”

Erik scoffs and pushes away from the sink and walks by.

“Should you ever be lucky I’d embrace you.”

Nadir feels an odd heat and then shakes it off. He never wanted Erik like that, but he did feel the tug of his sexual magnetism from time to time, it is like being caught in waves or a rift. Erik has a gravitational pull.

Nadir enters the living room where the others are. Charles signals him over; he pulls at Nadir hoodie sleeve.

“We’re good right?”

“We’re good.”

“Promise?”

“Charles, we’re friends today and will be friends tomorrow.”

Charles is satisfied with that and lets go of his sleeve. Raoul signals him next.

“Nadir.” His voice serious and showing a rare case of emotion.

“Raoul?”

“I have no follow up. Just saying your name to feel involved.”

Nadir sighs. Maybe the Frenchies weren’t so bad.


	9. A Long One

**Fall, 2 AM, 2008, NYC, Nadir’s Home**

It is well past midnight when Nadir forces himself up to answer the pounding at the door. He had gotten into an argument with Erik at the bar a few hours earlier and he is not quite ready to forgive the other man quite yet. He prefers for Erik to squirm, to think about his actions and that they do have consequences. Nadir will always forgive Erik, but he still wants him to learn from his misdeeds.

Expecting Erik to be on the side, Nadir opens the door. Instead a young boy with golden feline eyes, a suitcase pushes past him and makes himself at home. He drops his bag off into the spare room and then goes into the kitchen.

“RC? What are you doing here? Did your Mama or Papa drop you off?” Nadir steps outside. No car. Surely the boy did not walk all the way over here. That is over forty blocks!

Reza “RC” Charles Giry, the only child of Meg and Erik despite their many years together, is raiding his fridge. The boy does not eat, much like his father, but rather likes to critique and base his judgment of others on what he finds in their fridge. One of the many ways he is cunning and manipulative.

He is seven and a miniature Erik. They have disturbingly similar personalities, talents, devoted entirely to self-interest, and unlike his father, RC is quite the handsome boy. He has features that Adonis would swoon over, those vibrant golden feline eyes, dark wavy short hair, heart shaped face, and the cutest nose.

 _“I cannot help to be shroud in beauty,”_ he said to his father when he joked bitterly about his son’s paternity.

“I walked here.” RC says. He closes the fridge.

“Do your parents know you’re here?”

“No.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“No. I don’t want to go home. I ran away. I can’t go back if I ran away.” He crosses his arms, stops his foot, and lifts his chin defiantly.

“Why did you run away?”

He ignores Nadir. Nadir kneels in front of the boy.

“Reza-Charles, why did you run away?”

His eyes water slightly.

“Mama yelled at me.”

Ah.

“Your Mama must’ve had a good reason to raise her voice at you, little one. She doesn’t often yell at you, does she?”

He shakes his head. His upper lip trembles and clenches his fists. It is not a happy memory.

“I was getting her a present. Papa made her sad and I wanted her to smile.”

Nadir voice is caught in his heart. Erik and Meg do not have the healthiest or a conventional relationship, but they’ve done their best to do right by their son and keep their crazy away from him. RC never wants for anything, be it parental attention or toys. He is nurtured body, mind and soul by both.

“What was the present?”

“A flower. There was a flower in the tree outside my window that Mama likes. So I jumped out the window and onto the tree to get her the flower, but it made Mama angry and she started yelling and wouldn’t listen to me when I told her why I was in the tree! Mama’s who love their sons don’t yell, so Mama doesn’t love me, and I don’t love her.” He managed to get all of that out in a single breath. Nadir felt out of breath for the boy for just listening to the rant.

“Your Mama only yelled at you because she was worried that you could have gotten hurt.”

“I didn’t get hurt! I know how to climb trees and I know how to jump from my window to the tree. Papa thought it was funny. Mama yelled at him too.”

“Your Mama loves you very much, she was just concerned about you.”

“She’s mean.” He sniffs.

“She’s not mean. She loves you loudly.”

RC merely pouts.

“Come little one, before your parents tire from worry. Let’s get you home.” He grabs a hold of the young boy’s hand, only for it to be ripped away. He backs away. His face full of fury.

“I’m not going back.” He means it. His eyes glow golden fire with his anger.

“RC, I—”

The door his home burst open like an angry ghost and Meg Giry storms in and the seas part and the world quakes with her fury.

“Reza-Charles Giry what do you think you’re doing? You sneak out of the house well past your bedtime. Do you have any idea how worried I have been? You silly, selfish boy! You are just like your Papa, I could scream!” Meg grabs her son into a rough embrace. He tries to fight her off.

“I would die if anything happened to you, you fool!” She kisses the top of his head and then his cheek. He moans, groans and squirms like an insect trying to get out the spider’s web.

“Mama, stop it!”

“You know I love you, right?” She kisses him some more before spinning him around in an epic hug to end all epic hugs. He fights the giggle and enjoyment of the spin hug.

“How’d you know I was here?” He asks after Meg has settled and they snuggle on the sofa while Nadir makes tea.

“I’m your Mama. I will always find you. No matter what, no matter where you are.” RC finds a strange comfort in those words.

“Meg.”

Meg looks over to Erik before she looks away. She is still upset with him. Nadir returns to the front room, with two mugs. His heart jumps back to his throat when he sees his newest guest. He walks back to the kitchen for another mug.

“What is this.”

“What is _what_ , Erik?”

Meg is never short with Erik. She’s usually understanding, kind and ready to forgive. This anger is new. Different. Erik does not like it.

“Imagine my surprise when I woke up alone and that our son was missing. You could have said something. Left a note, woken me up.”

“You leave all the time without word, I thought you’d understand. What? Only you get to do that? That’s not very fair Erik.”

RC starts to tense up. He does not like when his parents get angry with each other. It hurts him inside.

“I don’t fuck off with our son.”

Meg laughs bitterly.

“ _Now_ he’s our son? Perhaps I was fucking off to be with his real father.”

Erik jaw tenses. He clenches and unclenches his hands and stretches the fingers. He forces himself to remain composed. He knows Meg does not mean that. She has only ever been with him and he knows that.

RC screams. He pushes Meg away and cuffs his ears. He cannot stand the anger, the fighting. He knows of the dark, dirty, ugly words, “divorce,” and “break up,” and he does not want his parents to do such things. He doesn’t want a second Mama or Papa or half siblings. He doesn’t want his world to end.

“Stop fighting!” He half cries half screams. He shakes off his Mama’s touches and runs from the sofa to the corner of the room, where he hugs himself and shakes with grief and fear.

Erik and Meg are too stunned and ashamed to move. Nadir makes his way over to the cowering child. He whispers words of love and comfort. He gathers the boy into his arm and takes him to the spare room the child claimed some time before.

Nadir returns alone. He says nothing as he looks at the fighting couple.

“Has he calmed down?” Meg asks, unable to meet his eyes. Nadir continues to stare silently.

“Is he asleep?”

Nadir crosses him arms. He can wait all night. He has the patience of a god when he needs to.

“Nadir.”

He shakes his head.

Meg swallows slowly. She turns to Erik.

“You hurt me. Then when our son does something incredibly dangerous you laugh, like it’s the funniest thing in the world!”

“It **_was_** funny. I did the same thing as a child. It drove my mother mad.”

“Your poor mother.”

“Poor mother? My mother was a cruel, spoiled bitch. I intended to kill her.”

“Off the road, Erik.” Nadir says sighing. It’s always been Nadir’s job to make sure Erik stays on the proper road. He tends to get sidetracked by the different exits and attractions.

“It was funny because it was something I would have done and have done. He truly is my son.”

“When you do things like that, it undermines me and I feel like you don’t support me.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Thank you.”

Nadir shakes his head, Erik did not apologize, not truly and yet she forgave him.

“And about earlier.” Erik steps closer to her, she turns away defiantly. Teasingly. Nadir frowns. Meg is already falling again. What happened to the angry hurt wife?

He leans into her.

“That was an experiment.” His turn to be playful.

“Experiment?”

“To get you angry.”

“It worked.”

“To a degree, the point was,” he brings his masked head to her ears. Nadir cannot hear what is being said. Meg’s face turns red. She is embarrassed. Nadir can imagine what it must be then.

“I may have overreacted.”

“Can we get the kiddo and go home now?”

Meg nods, Erik puts his arm around her, and they head to the spare room to collect their son.

\--

* * *

**2017, Nadir’s**

RC, sixteen and quite the handsome devil, sits at the kitchen table. He has nasty black eye and busted lip. Nadir kneels next to him, ice wrapped in a towel is pressed against the offending eye.

“Have you not heard of ducking?”

The teen snorts but says nothing. He touches Nadir’s hand; Nadir lets go of the towel and RC holds it in it place.

“Tell me a story, little one.”

“I’m _taller_ than you, Uncle.”

“I’m _normal_ sized.”

“You’re a woodland creature.”

“Reza-Charles, what happened to your pretty face?”

“A boy.” He says casually. He shrugs and adjust the towel.

“A boy. You’re fighting kids? RC that’s hardly fair.” Nadir scolds teasingly.

“Fine, a _teenaged_ boy, Uncle.” He casts his eyes upwards in light annoyance. He blinks several times. His wounded eye feels stress. He presses the towel into his eye firmly.

“And why did this teenaged boy damage your eye?”

“Uncle, he is of no consequence. He hit me and that’s the end of it. Really.”

“I _know_ you.”

RC exhales deeply. There is always an air of melodrama that surrounds the boy. He gets it from Erik. Everything is some kind of production with those two. The world is their theater.

“I was invited to a party. The party needed some entertainment and I merely provided.”

“And what was the entertainment? Did you perform magic tricks?”

RC scrunches his face in disgust. He hates magicians. Magic is science and practical, nothing more and to claim otherwise is childish and ignorant.

“Adelaide likes Lorne, Lorne likes both her and Margie. Lorne came to me for advice, both were at this party and he wanted to make a final decision.”

“And what did you tell Lorne?”

“I reminded him that he is sixteen and he’s not getting married to either of them.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“He has the right to do what he wants, with whomever he wants. These humans only live once, Uncle.”

_These humans._

Nadir could not help to feel a strange cold creep around him. He is just like his father, it’s disturbing. Sinister. Nadir is trying his best to keep RC on a good path towards the light. The only thing that has helped the boy from the full plummet is that RC is a devoted son to Meg. He would die before he did anything intentionally hurtful against her.

“What led to the shiner?”

“Romance is nothing without some form of conflict.”

“And what’s this got to do with your eye?”

“If you allow me to finish, I will tell you.”

Nadir gestures him to continue.

“Addie saw Lorne kiss, and I say kiss, but it was more akin to mauling her face, Margie, and she needed someone to confide in. I am nothing but a prince, so I of course lend my shoulder for her to cry on so to speak. In a show of appreciation, she kissed me. Her boyfriend, whom she just happened to forget about, had been watching us. I may have been vaguely aware of his presence.”

“Wait, so Adelaide likes Lorne _and_ has a boyfriend, both are at this party?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Reminds me of the shah.”

“How quaint.”

“So, who punched you? The boyfriend or Lorne?”

“Gideon.”

“Who is that?”

“ _My_ sweet human puppy. He gets adorably jealous when I play with others. So, I may have leaned back into him as I was offering comfort to Adelaide. Poor thing did not like that.”

Nadir feels lightheaded and grabs RC’s legs to steady himself. RC reaches out and holds onto Nadir’s hands, his eyes flash concern.

“So, he punched you.”

“Yes.”

“And Lorne and the boyfriend?”

“Ah. There may have been more violence as I left the party, but my work was complete so,” he shrugs.

“Erik would find this funny, so why did you come to me and not go home?”

RC avoids his gaze and tenses slightly. He looks somewhat shamed, a rare thing. Nadir smiles. He knows why.

“Your mother.”

“She would fuss and make a big deal out of it. I don’t want to stress her.”

“You’ll have to go home eventually, little one.” Nadir reminds him.

“The swelling needs time to lessen. Once it’s less puffy and red, I’ll return home.”

“Stay as long as you need, Lothario.”

“A plus refence, Uncle.”

“I have my moments.”

* * *

* * *

**NYC, Present**

Nadir is just about to finish his fifth cup of coffee. He likes spending time alone and to watch people. This café is one of his favorite places to do so. It’s equal distance to home and work. He has a good thing going with the staff and sometimes they “forget” to charge him for his pancakes.

“Uncle.”

Nadir looks over, his nineteen-year-old adopted nephew. He’s slightly shorter than Erik, but still quite the intimidating figure. His hair is dark wavy, somewhat unkept. Red is his favorite color and he never is without something red, today, his trousers, one leg black, the other bright red, his hoodie cream.

“I didn’t know you were back. Visiting for the weekend?”

“It’s Tuesday, Uncle.”

“Isn’t this out of your way for coffee?”

“Yes, but I have night classes Tuesdays. Mother wanted to see me, and I need to see you. It works out.”

“Me?”

“Later.”

He walks away. Nadir feels a strange sense of foreboding. He finishes his coffee and tries to fight back the fear.

Nadir pushes the earlier encounter with RC from his mind once he arrives at his desk at the station. He has several case files to go through and Hadley is compiling new lists of suspects and who they should interview, and what they have collected so far as relevant data.

Nadir cross-referencing and regretting his decision. He would rather work with people, than papers. He reaches for his cup of coffee, only to find sadness. It is empty. He frowns. He looks around, hoping to catch someone on a coffee break.

“Uncle.”

Nadir is reminded that RC did in fact tell him that he wanted to speak with him about something. RC is attending NYU currently. He’s majoring in journalism and criminal psychology. He started off as a music major, but after a silly argument with Erik, he switched majors to spite his father.

“What can I do for you, little one?”

RC picks up a picture frame from his desk. He runs his fingers along the frame before Nadir takes it from him, rougher than intended. Nadir feels shame and bows his head.

“I need an internship, Uncle.”

“An internship here?”

RC takes the seat across from him and slides a paper over to Nadir. He looks at the form. Very official. The college’s seal is stamped on the top right corner.

“My professor and advisor approved. All I need is your signature along with your captain.”

“Why here?”

“Why not?”

RC shrugs. He picks up a bobble-head toy that Hadley got him as gag last Christmas when she pulled his name for the annual Secret Santa the precinct held.

Nadir considers this. RC is disturbingly like Erik. They share many of the same traits, mannerisms, musical talents, devotion to self-interest, need of power, their shroud of darkness. When Nadir watches RC, he is reminded of those days in Persia.

Those screams, the blood. So much blood that he cannot get it off of his clothing that he doesn’t know what blood is his anymore, and my God why won’t anyone just shut up those hissing cats, Darius why can’t you—

“Uncle?”

Nadir looks over.

“You’re crying.” There are shades of fear and concern in those feline eyes of his. He watches him with curious eyes, he tilts his head like an animal.

“Oh. Your Uncle is a silly old man. Ignore me.” Nadir quickly wipes the tears away. He pushes back the memories and feelings. He can and will endure.

RC starts to speak, but abruptly changes his mind. He shifts positions in his seat. He refocuses his attention on the toy.

“I will need to speak with my captain about this.”

“My advisor called him.” His voice sounds far away. Nadir gets up, the world is melting away as he walks to his captain’s office.

It didn’t take much and the conversation had been short. The captain agrees, signs the paper and Nadir returns to his desk.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Exploring my options.”

“What does this internship involve exactly? What’s on your end?”

“You write weekly reports to my professor about my progress and I write a final presentation and paper.”

“Do you have a serious interest in criminal justice?”

RC smiles.

“To a degree, yes.”

“Not interested in pursuing music?”

RC smile melts away and transform into something darker, angry.

“No room in the spotlight. I’d prefer to cast my own shadow than to suffer in another’s.”

“You play different instruments, RC.” Nadir reasons.

“I am _not_ seeking a career in music, Uncle.” He says hotly.

\--

* * *

“So, this is my home office.” Nadir gestures to the overstuffed bookcases in his home office. Papers, folders, binders, are on the floor in piles. RC clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“What is your filing system based on?”

“The top ones are new.” Nadir shrugs.

“I’ll fix this.”

He moves forward, picks up s folder and skims through it. Nadir shuffles his feet.

“Have you visited your parentals? They know about your interning.”

RC flinches and the folder crumples in his hands.

“It was Mother’s suggestion. I do not recognize Papa at the moment. Not while he’s with _her_.”

RC loathes Christine with a fiery passion that Nadir and the others find truly terrifying. You do not mention the name, “Christine,” around him.

“I hope I can live up to the idea they have of me.”

“Yes.”

RC picks up more folders.

“Do you solve any cases?”

“I’ve solved plenty.”

“Doubtful.”

\--

* * *

Nadir is ready to go out the door when RC appears by his side.

“Where are we going? Interviewing suspects?” RC has an excited glint in his freaky golden cat eyes.

“I’m meeting Charles and Jules for drinks.”

“Oh. “

“You can’t come, you’re underage.”

RC scoffs.

“I’m a college student, Uncle”

RC pulls something from his wallet and presents it to Nadir.

“That’s a false ID and you’re showing it to me, an officer of the law.”

“Take it if you want, I have others.”

They arrive at the usual place. RC does not go in.

“You cannot be serious.”

“What?”

RC shakes his head.

“This isn’t you.” He nods at the bar.

“I come here all the time.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Nadir does not, but it’s what the Frenchies like, so he just goes with the flow.

“I like the company, not the place.”

“You should enjoy both.”

“What do you suggest, little one?”

“Somewhere that’s more your tastes.”

“And you would know such a place?”

“Follow me, little moth.”

RC starts walking and Nadir can’t help but laugh, he is following a minor to a better bar. What he finds in a hole in the wall place. The lighting is low, the floor is untidy and the bartender is going with a late goth phase.

“RC, babes!” The bartender calls out. RC nods and walks over.

“The usual?”

RC nods.

“You come here often?”

RC nods, turns around and leans his back against the bar.

“This is the place to be, Uncle.”

“I can see the appeal.”

\--

* * *

Several hours later, Nadir is dragging a very drunk RC to bed. He should not have let him drink, so many broken laws, but he did find himself enjoying the night despite having to half carry, half drag a nineteen-year old home.

He takes off RC’s shoes and places by the nightstand. He helps RC get into a comfortable position on the bed.

“Sweet dreams, little one. The morning will be painful.” He turns off the light.

\--

* * *

“Do you think this is a good idea?”

_“Of course, it is.”_

“Erik.”

_‘Trust me. He needs this and you always say you want Nadir to be more of an influence.’_

Meg sighs into the phone. Erik orchestrated this whole thing. RC needed an internship; Reza’s death anniversary is coming up this month and Nadir usually ends up in a very dark place around this time. So, RC being placed in the care of Nadir would distract him, give him the feeling of being a father again, keep him from spiraling out, and hey, RC gains a powerful mentor.

“I trust you, love.”

She ends the call and the conversation.

\--

* * *

“Hey. Intern. Coffee.” Thom rolls over on his swivel chair and shakes his empty cup of coffee.

“Me too!” Berry shouts from his desk.

“Thrice.” Hadley says, a pen in her mouth and she pokes at her computer screen, forgetting it’s not a touch reactive device. She looks around, embarrassed before shaking it off.

“Coffee.” RC says. He looks over to Nadir, who holds up his own cup.

“This is part of the job. We run off this stuff. Helps us save the world, are you writing this down?”

RC reaches into his back pocket and takes out a small notepad.

“Coffee to save the world.” He says as he writes aggressively.

“Coffee!” Thom, Berry, Hadley shout.

“I’m going.”

\--

* * *

“Google is your friend. You should use as many search engines as you can and we have our databases where we can access cases from others, and also, archives at the library. We’re solving a great big puzzle and these places are where we can find the missing pieces.” Nadir says. RC writes that down.

“Is there a process or special method to interviewing witnesses or suspects?”

“Yes, but to me it’s situational. Each person is different. Remember, you’re talking to a person.”

“Of course.”

RC takes down more notes.

“We should take him on tonight’s stakeout.” Hadley says from her desk.

“That has nothing to do with our case.”

“Still, give him an experience.”

“Hadley. Spying on your daughter is not—"

“Khan, it will be helpful. Kid, don’t you want to be a part of a real stakeout with homicide detectives.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t encourage her.”

“Excellent!”

Nadir sighs in defeat.  
  


\--

* * *

“Okay, Khan it’s your turn to pick tonight’s jams, but I swear to all that is holy to Allah, if you so much as force me to endure another opera, I will kick you in the head.” Hadley threatens him in Farsi.

“You like opera, Uncle?” RC asks in perfect Farsi. Nadir hates RC and Erik’s language mastery. Must they be perfect at everything they attempt?

“It’s growing on me.”

“He uses it to torture me!”

“I do _not_ use music to torture.” Nadir tone is solemn.

“Music is a powerful weapon.” RC says quietly. He looks out the window. Nadir shudders at bitter memories.

“You’re telling me. Okay, let’s get this night started. Jam it up. Lay down your saucy beats.”

He turns on the radio.

_Cotton-Eye-Joe._

“Ugh. You bastard.” Hadley starts to head bang. RC feels ill. He looks at Nadir, who is also jamming it out, in shame and fear. How can this be something his beloved Uncle enjoys?

“This is maddening.” RC holds his precious ears.

\--

* * *

“So, how was your first real day being a law man?” Charles asks. He pushes a shot of vodka his way, which Nadir intercepts.

“Nadir needs to apologize to my ears.”

“My taste in music is flawless. You’re welcome.”

“Think you’re confusing flawed and flawless there.”

RC tries to reach for the alcohol, but Nadir blocks him at every attempt.

“What do you know of music anyway?”

Erik and RC both look at him. Nadir waves them off.

“Music is meant to be enjoyed.”

“That wasn’t music and I did not enjoy it.”

“Consider it payback then.”

“For what?” RC is offended.

“The cookies.”

RC looks at Erik.

“When you were ten, you ate sweets he purchased from a Persian market.”

“They were very expensive, and you got sick all over my carpet.”

“That was nine years ago.”

“It’s good to see your math has improved.”

“My math skills were never in question.”

“So defensive.”

“You’re insufferable.”

RC crosses his arms and glares.

“I so do enjoy these family moments.”

“Shut up, Erik.”

Erik grabs his son by the jaw and holds it.

“Such a pretty boy, why an ugly tongue?”

“Erik.” Nadir resists the urge to grab him. RC glares, but his face softens. Erik relinquishes his hold.

“I apologize, Papa.”

“You’ve been away so long; do you need a refresher course?” Erik tone is sickly sweet. RC shakes his head.

“No. I know my place.” He adverts his eyes to something behind Erik, off in the distance, looking at nothing.

“Good boy.” He reaches out and squeezes RC’s nose playfully and just rough enough to send the message.

Jules and Meg return from dancing. Meg takes her stool back next to RC. Her smile fades when she sees her son’s forlorn affect.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“He’s being a child, let him pout.” Erik sneers.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” 

Meg is unconvinced but says nothing.

“How’s the internship?”

“I’m a coffee runner.”

“Well save the world tomorrow.” Nadir winks.

“With the coffee.”

\--

* * *

“It would be nice if we could all get along for more than five seconds.”

It’s Sunday and Meg wants to have a nice family brunch. RC says nothing and Erik drums his fingers onto the surface of the table. They’re dinning outside at a favorite café and Meg went to the extra mile and they’re eating in the evening. A very late brunch.

“I’m cool.” RC says finally.

“I have no conflict.” Erik says. He wipes his gloves with a napkin.

“I have a dance audition coming up next week. It’s for a proper ballet company. Looking forward to that. Probably will be sick leading up to it, like usual. Anyone else?”

“Finished a new work.”

“I started playing the flute again. Forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

“So, we’re being productive! That is good.”

“Is it a touring company, Mother?”

“It is.”

“International?”

“It is! We’d be touring all over Europe.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” Erik’s voice is low, soft.

“I didn’t?” Meg knows she didn’t.

“No.”

“Does it matter? Mother’s traveled to different countries before.”

“We’ll discuss this later, Meg.”

“Of course.”

“What’s the big deal? She leaves the country. You two broke up, it’s not like she needs your permission to go or that it complicates your plans with each other.”

“RC, you need to use the bathroom.” Meg says before Erik can respond. RC takes the hint and leaves the table.

“No.”

Meg exhales deeply and leans her head back. She knew she’d have to have this conversation sooner or later, she just preferred later and while she was on a plane.

“I’m a dancer. This is what I’m meant to do. I need this like I need oxygen.”

“Dance here.”

“This would be good for me. I want to travel again. I want be on my own and do something for myself.”

“You can do that here.”

“I promised you forever and you chose to have that with Christine, and I have accepted that. I’m trying to rebuild and start a new life, but I can’t do that if you don’t let me go completely.”

He lunges across the table, pulls her close and kisses her aggressively. His mask thrown aside

“She’s fun, you’re forever,” He leans into her to kiss her again, but she turns her head.

“I’m not a side salad. Pick your entrée.” She pulls away and stands up.

“I’m going to the audition. If you want to be with me, be with me. Otherwise, have a good life with Christine.” She picks up her bag and walks away.

“Where’s Mother going?” RC takes his seat at the table.

“Finish your plate.” Erik snaps.


	10. Leave This Body

_Sometimes I close my eyes and I can leave my body. I take a step outside my self and I watch. I want to fight, scream, and shake her, me, so hard. I have no mouth and I cannot scream, but I do, and it means nothing._

_Christine is crying, her head is on my lap and all I can do is watch. She’s a complete wreck and she comes to me for solace, comfort, to hold her hand. She is sleeping with the man I sacrificed my humanity for, and she comes to me for advice on how to better their relationship._

_And I do and I will always be there for her. I just close my eyes, leave my body, this world, and I can help her. It is easy to help someone when you are empty, have no emotions, but are a shell of what you are._

_I cannot bring myself to hate her, fault her, or deny her. She is a beautiful confused, manipulated creature. She lost her father, music, her ability to live, and He gave it back to her. She fell in love with life, music, art, and herself again._

_I will not stand in the way or take that away from her. It may have started off as a lie, but it is so much more than that now. It’s real, He is her Angel of Music, of Love, of Life._

_My part is irrelevant to all of this. I simply do not exist. I walk through this world, but I am not among them. My mother said I was a dirty, unclean, unknown, unthing. I never quite understood what she meant, but now I do._

_Meg Giry stopped existing the night she let Him take her, and in her place, I was born. I have her face, her memories, her heart, but I stopped being Meg, and someone else took over._

_Christine, sweet beautiful Christine. I wish I could have her touch, her scent, just for a day, to know what it would be like to be wanted, needed, craved, desired._

_What is it like to be enough? To be the main option, the main event, the entrée. Is it warm where you live? I walk the dark side of the Sun, and she is ever bathed in the light. Apollo has blessed her and forgotten about me. Did he ever know me? Perhaps not, perhaps never and no one does._

_Sometimes I wonder If I do even exist._

_You cannot hate someone for being in love. Love is precious. It keeps humanity on the right path to light. It is the shield and sword to ward off hate._

_Christine loves Him and I will not stand in the way, I refuse. Love keeps the world going. I just want her to be happy, to smile, and I do not know what to do._

_I hold her hand, sing to thee of love, kiss her forehead and wish her well._

_They are good for each other. You gain something from your partner if the relationship is right and they do. She got the zest for life back, and my love has someone who inspires Him, drives Him,_

_He rose from the depth of darkness and death to be with the living, to rejoin the world. He is no longer content being the Phantom, he broke the chains of misery and self-loathing._

_He creates again. He has passion that he lost so long ago and it’s because of her, and I thank her every day for that gift._

_I will never make Him happy and that’s why I have to go. If my continued presence is keeping them stalled, I will go._

_It’s with love that I do this. It’s for the best._

Meg checks herself in the mirror. After a moment she turns and leaves the room. Meg walks towards the door and walks out. She walks down the steps, and onto the sidewalk.

She has no destination in mind, no thoughts, she just is. She walks where her feet are taking her and she does not look back, does not question. She is gone.

\--

* * *

Charles didn’t understand the phone conversation, but it didn’t matter after hearing her name. He dropped everything, literally, he was a job site, he ran to his car and raced to the hospital. Why Meg listed him as her emergency is beyond him, but it does bring back certain warm feelings.

He ran down the hall and found her room. She is still. He runs up to her and he hugs her, she does not respond. She says nothing, does nothing.

He snaps his fingers, calls out to her, nothing. The lights are off and no one is home.

“I’m sorry.” Meg watches Charles attempt to reach Meg. She walks around to his side.

“I can hear you.”

“Meg, wake up, it’s me, Charles, remember? Chuck? We were going to write that musical about grilled cheese sandwiches. You know I can’t do it on my own, I have no skill with choreography for the dance numbers.”

Meg’s Shadow laughs.

“That’s what you say? You can do it on your own. Sorelli can help you.”

Meg stands in front of her body.

“This is the end, isn’t it? I have gone completely. It is all I can do to help you.”

Meg starts to leave, something is calling her, a bright yellow shroud of light, it’s warm like the sun.

“I love you, you stupid bitch, I’ve always loved you, how dare you just give up!”

Meg turns.

Charles shakes her body. He kisses her and then pulls her close. He’s crying.

Meg watches him.

Meg feels the pull and—

“Charles?”

Meg is back within herself. She looks at the man in front of her.

“Meg.” He holds onto her.

“I heard you.” She says so far away. She sees it, watching in different directions. He pulls away.

“You called me. I heard your voice.”

She looks at Charles, as if for the first time, the last time. She stares, looks, sees into his eyes, she reaches out to touch his face. He holds into her hand.

“Mother!”

RC runs into the room, pushes Charles out of the way and kneels in front of her.

“Uncle’s radio, I knew they were talking about you. What happened? Did they give her drugs? Is she home?”

He snaps his fingers and then slaps her.

“Ow.”

Charles nods and leaves the room, while RC speaks frantic to his Mama.

* * *

Charles is pulled back to the waking consciousness. The knocking on the door is unwelcomed, and obnoxious. He intends to yell, to be violent as he can be when he opens the door, but all of that is kicked from him.

Meg, holding a bag, is on the other side.

"Can I stay?"


	11. Fun In The City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reference Materteral: https://www.youtube.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4XYgRN86NUcom/watch?v=WWcEktio9Is  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r63sh6Izgdw  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_sxdO7M69Q  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4XYgRN86NU  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0xCOqcKT_4  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QI7UGaD6Neo  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHqxA1vXgFQ  
> not gonna lie, heavy influencers.

I have waited and wasted so many nights for this moment. She is here. She wants to be here. Meg Giry is sitting on my sofa in my home, drinking tea and I am the one she turned to when she needed someone.

I do not know what to do or what to say. I have played this scenario so many times in my mind, in my dreams, but when it’s here, in front of you, tangible, and I can touch it, I have no idea what to do.

I pace like a manic depressive. I cannot stop moving. She is on the sofa. She has not said a word since I offered her tea. She is not even looking at me.

“Is this what you wanted?” She asks, it takes me a minute to realize she is speaking.

“What do you mean?”

“When you accepted the offer, is this what you thought your life would be?”

Ah.

“I thought I would be able to take over the world. I had so many plans, so many dreams.”

“What changed?”

“My wife and children died.”

“Killed?”

“Age. I didn’t think about that. They grew older and withered and I stayed 34 and they became dust. Losing my wife was hard enough, but my children? I couldn’t attend the funerals.”

“We’re selfish people.”

“Indeed.”

“Do you want to know a secret? Something I’ve never told anyone?”

“Yes.” I may have said much too eagerly.

“I lied about my age.”

“What?”

She nods and laughs, it’s sad, hollow, painful to hear. Not the joyous bubbly sounds I know so well.

“I told him I was eighteen.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen. I just turned sixteen.”

I feel the world move.

“Did Christine lie?”

She shakes her head.

“Christine was 21.”

“And you never told anyone? Does Christine know your real age?”

She shakes her head.

“Mama had to lie about my age, so I could dance. I just kept up with it. I have a young face and the proper documentation to support my age lie.”

“Well, fuck.”

I sit down on the sofa next to her.

“He’s was the only man in my life at the time that paid any attention to me. He knew that. I thought he loved me, but I think it’s vanity.”

“He’s the Devil.”

Meg snorts.

“Did he tell you what he really is? He told me. I promised not to tell.” She puts a finger to her lips.

“Since we’re revealing secrets, why not keep it going.”

She shakes her head smiling.

“It’s more fun to figure it out on your own.”

“But he’s not human right? Which means RC isn’t human, so is this then a kind of bestiality?”

Meg howls with laughter. She bends over, her breathing become impaired between fits of laughs.

“I needed that.” She wipes tears from her eyes.

“Wait, or is it necrophilia?” I tap my chin, pondering. Her eyes sparkle.

“Wow.”

“When he was a side show, the Living Corpse, right?”

“You’re too much!”

“Sometimes I daydream that I throw garlic at him, and shout ‘Nosferatu!’”

She giggles.

“Love it.”

“Maybe I should get you garlic deodorant or a necklace. Just in case.”

“I’ll tattoo a crucifix on my wrist.”

“Keep a flask of holy water.”

“Dog biscuits, give those to Christine.”

We enjoy the company of silence for a moment. This is what I wanted, to be with her, enjoy her company.

“It’s Monday.” She says. I nod.

“All day.”

There is a mischievous glint in her eyes. It has been so long since I’ve seen that.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?”

“Dance on the moon,”

“French tourists.”

“What?” I had not expected that.

“We play up being French tourists. Like, really play it up. Obnoxious levels. Wear berets, take pictures of sidewalks, speak with broken English accents. Dress like mimes.”

“Why would we do this?”

“It’s Monday.”

\--

* * *

I feel odd, I’m dressed in all black, found a stupid beret, no idea why I have one in my wardrobe, but I do. Meg comes out swinging. Black skirt, red scarf wrapped around her throat, black and white stripped shirt, and black combat boots. She going to war?

“And to complete the ensemble,” she hangs a camera around my neck.

“Perfect!” She kisses her fingers.

“Is it?”

“Now let’s practice accent.”

“How this.”

“This good.”

\--

* * *

We start by walking around towards Broadway and we stop, block foot traffic and I take casual pictures of construction that blocks sidewalk.

“Never seen this,” I take the picture.

“What’s this?” Meg poses, her face very severe. It’s so out of character for her, I have to bite my lip from laughing, so I can keep up this façade. We hear the annoyed locals pass us, curse us, and glare.

We walk a few more blocks, Meg stops, she holds out her phone and signals for me to stand in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking traffic to take a picture. We do, and again this annoys the appropriate people.

“We take tour.” She nods her head to one of those big red busses.

We pay the ticket and hop on the bus.

“This tour, fun. See city.” Meg uses her phone and takes videos of random things.

“What an adorable accent,” someone from behind us says.

“Where are you from?” Her friend asks.

“France.” We both say.

“Oh! I spent the summer in Italy.”

“That’s not France.” Meg says. She turns around and uses her phone to take a picture.

“I loved Spain.”

It is my turn to address them.

“I spit on Spain.” I turn my head and I spit off the side of the bus.

“They tried to take champagne. Only France has champagne.”

“I thought champagne was just wine.”

“I was told it was a marketing scheme.”

“Ignorant, I set my rage on fire!” Meg turns around dramatically, crosses her arms. She is shaking, trying to keep her laughter quiet, and to look intimidating.

After the tour we find ourselves at the ferry.

“Big green lady.” I take several unfocused pictures. Meg smokes dramatically, she doesn’t really smoke, it’s all an act. She looks so good.

“You can’t smoke here.” A crew member says. Meg puts it out.

I take several pictures of the crew member, he runs off, apparently afraid of my camera.

We ended making friends with a couple on the ferry, they claim to speak French. They do not, but we don’t say that. They want to treat us to lunch, so they take us to a French restaurant. Meg, I, and the others come here frequently, and the staff knows us. They only like Meg for some reason.

The waiter comes to take our order, and our new entertainment begins.

“Ah yes, for the table would like ants, grass and of course the pencil.” They say in French. The waiter, who is from the Normandy region like Erik, stares at them then looks at us for translation.

“I don’t know what they’re trying to order,” Meg says in French.

“Mussels and oysters,” I suggest.

The waiter nods and off he goes.

Throughout the entire meal, we must guess and translate for our waiter. Their awkward sentences offer much entertainment. I’m almost sad when the meal is over, and we part ways.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Meg says. We’re on our way back to mine. I forgot what it was like to just explore the city, to be with someone without having grand plans, intensity, danger.

“Same.” I say.

“I’ve always wanted to do that. Play tourist. Be someone normal. My name is Mona, I love puggles, and I’m going to be a fireman when I grow up.”

“I don’t like Mona.” I make a face. Shake my head.

“Mona is beautiful, she walks in the sun, bathed in the light of the stars at night. She’s loved, and when you are loved, you’re never alone.”

“I like Meg.”

“Meg is an all bread sandwich.”

“Meg is rainbow cake.”

“Rainbow cake,” she pauses, and I stop with her.

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

She nods, perhaps in approval

We arrive at my door and I let her in first, ever the gentleman.

She just stands there, in the middle of the room. I do not know what to do, so I make slow work of locking up. She is still just standing there.

“Would you like tea? Glass of wine?”

She is shaking. I do not know what to do. I stand there for a minute. I walk over and hug her; she turns and cries into my chest.

“I’m such a fool.”

I so my best to try to soothe her. I whisper words of love, rub her back and let her cry.

“I can’t do this.”

My heart drops to the floor, but I don’t let her go.

“I-I want to, but, I need time.”

“Take all the time you need, I’ll wait.”

She nods, she grabs the fabric of my shirt and turns her head.

“I got snot on your shirt. I’m sorry.”

“Bitch.”

She laughs, half cries. I hold onto her until her tears end.


	12. Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, last update for the day. Gonna burn out.

Meg smiles as she packs all her things into boxes. Christine watches from a distance as Charles and Meg laugh as she shows off random items.

“I forgot about some of this stuff.” Meg seals the box and moves to the next pile.

“Jewelry. Keep, sell, donate?”

“Sell, I’m poor.” He adds the rings, necklaces into the box labeled “SELL”

“Anything in the bathroom?” Charles asks he stands to his feet. Meg shakes her head.

“Throw away.”

He nods as he heads off with a trash bag.

“You’re not keeping much, are you?” Christine finds her voice. She feels strange pangs, some of it is guilt, another is finality. A kind of closure that leaves her numb.

“I need a clean break. I should have done this years ago.”

“Do you need help?” Christine feels useless, she wants to do something, say something, but the words turn to ashes and her mouth becomes dry.

“It’s done. I just need to load this, and it is not much. Oh. I want you to have something, it should have been yours. It _is_ yours.” Meg removes a ring from her finger and hands it to Christine.

“Here.” Christine holds the ring between her fingers.

“He gave this to you.” Christine tries to offer it, but Meg shakes her head.

“I was the stand in it until the real girl showed up, and you have. It is the right size; I know it is. It was always awkward on me.”

“He talks about you.” Christine says.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m fine. We were done the first day.”

“Meg I,” Charles comes back, and Meg picks up the boxes. He helps her with the rest, they bid Christine farewell and leave for the last time.

Meg doesn’t live here anymore. Christine wipes the tear from her eyes and plays the ring with her fingers, she does not want it, but she slides on her finger despite herself. It is a perfect fit.

“It feels different.”

Erik avoided Meg. He wasn’t thrilled that Charles was with her, he would have preferred her alone.

“She’s gone. Like she was never here.” Christine hugs herself. He stands next to her.

“More room for you.”

That was meant to comfort her, but she moans in pain instead.

“She still loves you.” Christine never felt threatened by Meg, because she knew her influence over Erik, but something feels different this time.

“I know.”

He holds up her hand, twists, turns it around. His fingers trace over the ring.

“I gave that to her.”

“She said it was meant for me.”

“Once.”

“Not anymore?”

He lets go of her hand.

“She wants you to have it, then it’s yours.”

Love is supposed to fill you with joy. You are supposed to light up when they are around you.

“This is what you want right?”

“I have a few things to take care of.” He walks away and leaves her alone.

\--

* * *

Meg and Charles collapse on the sofa and laugh. Long day. She holds out some of the cash she received in exchange for some her items she sold.

“That was a good day. Did a lot of adulting. Quick, we need to watch cartoons.”

“We order Chinese and watch movies instead.” Charles suggests. He does not want to waste a single second of the day as long as she is around. She could leave at any moment; nothing is holding her here. She said it was a temporary lodging, she is looking for a new place.

“Sounds good.”

“What movie?”

Meg sets up the TV and queues the film.

“It’s called “Dead Silence”, I think it’s an 80s film like Killer Klowns. Campy stupid fun.”

“Dead Silence sounds like a terrible grindhouse movie.”

“No, more like a slasher film. Maybe it’s like “Black Christmas,” never seen it.”

“Dead Silence, I’m going to call you and harass you with my . . . silence.”

“It’s starting, we shall see!”

\--

* * *

Erik meets Sorelli at the bar, she’s been there for awhile now, several shots in.

“Is there any alcohol left?” He asks as he sits down next to her. She scoffs.

“Maybe.”

“Progress?”

“Boring.” She pouts.

“I suppose arson can only take your pleasure so far.”

“Do you want to start a fire with me? Jealous I did it with Charlie?”

“I’m in a good mood, so I’ll let that slide.” He drums his fingers onto of the bar’s counter surface. He does not like being ignored, like he’s some kind of human peasant, like those around him.

“When you promised not to murder for pleasure, you crossed your fingers right?” She finishes a shot and then another.

“The Nadir I made that promise to is no more. I don’t owe him anything.”

“You killed the cop? I would have liked to have been there.”

He reaches out and slams her head against the bar. Some patrons gasp in shock and move away. Sorelli lifts her head up and laughs like a loon.

“I love our foreplay.” She kicks his ankles hard. He grunts and she continues her manic laughter.

“Christine is in my web; I just don’t know how I want to play my next move. _I owe her so much_.” He is about to jump the bar and make his own drink.

“I thought you wanted to break her mind, like she broke yours.”

“Eventually, but you don’t go straight to the main course.”

“So, where are we? The pre-dinner cocktails?”

“Oh, we’re at the appetizer. Salad and soup are next, then the grand meal.”

“So, you’re making progress.”

“Yours?”

“Charlie is distant. I do not like it. He is supposed to be my forever boy. You promised me. What am I supposed to do to get his attention? Fuck someone on his birthday cake?”

“You _had_ his attention.”

“Yeah.”

“You squandered it, wasted your time. You only have so much of a window.”

“This time I won’t.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it.”

Erik leans over, grabs the bartender, and pulls him close.

“I’d like to place an order.”

Sorelli steals the bartender’s wallet and slaps his butt, before pocketing her new prize.

“I require proof.” He says to Sorelli and he lets the bartender go.

“Done.”

\--

* * *

Charles and Meg stare wide-eyed at the screen. They are white as sheets and want to unsee what they have just seen. Meg rubs her eyes, trying to remove the images. It does not help; it is fresh in her mind.

“I did not need another reason to be weary of ventriloquism!”

“Is it gone?!”

“Do not like!”

“Why is that a thing!?”

“I’m going to need at least a week before I can face Erik.”

“Yeah, same here.” Meg shudders.

“That was the _worst_ experience of my long-lived life.”

“Oh, god. I can still hear it. When she put her hand in the—” Meg covers her hands with her eyes and moans in pain.

“Shut up.” He covers his ears.

“This is will be a new source of nightmares.” Meg says miserably.

“Only if we sleep.”

“No more sleep?”

“I don’t think we need sleep. Erik doesn’t.”

“This is true.”

They sit in silence.

“24 shots of expresso and black coffee?”

“Yes, that’s what I want.”


	13. This is Not A Chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some notes because I am insane.

So I'm really bad at describing characters and now I'm really paranoid that no one sees Meg the way I see her and it's really driving me crazy. To be perfectly clear I don't NEED you to see her this way, because this is just how I do. So if you see her, your magical way. you can still do that, but I just need it to known that this is how I see her... 

Basically Luna Lovegood/Evanna Lynch

and I mean the characters, not the actors.. I know, i'm weird.

and the gold mask I keep talking about::

and also

I feel better now

Carry on!


	14. Longer One.

Laurel Drexler, mother of Lorne, is the president of the PTA of the school and she has big damn dreams and ambitions. She wants to be, will be the Queen Bee of the society in this city’s sector and she has a fantastic in: her son's best friend, or rather, the parents of her son’s best friend.

She discovered his usefulness when she picked him up from school. Her driver had been caught in traffic, she held him up, but really, he should have known better and arrived early, or made the accommodations needed.

She never really paid much attention to her son or his social group, but there was something striking about that seven-year-old. Lorne and RC were waiting together. Lorne waved goodbye to his buddy and ran up to the car, got in and started his incessant chatter.

“Who is that boy?” Laurel watches him, he finds his parent and they leave together.

“My best friend RC.” He says happily.

“RC?”

“Reza-Charles.”

“What’s his last name?”

“Giry!”

That name was vaguely familiar. She stored it in the vault for later use and investigation, it wasn’t until that evening that the name clicked.

“Carl is trying to get me to attend this ballet. Apparently, he is keen on the head dancer, Meg Giry. She looks 12, but you know his delicate tastes.” Her husband Martin says over the newspaper he is casually reading.

“Meg Giry?”

“Yes, that’s what he said. She is supposed to be quite good. Came from France, she is part that elite crowd everyone’s been salivating over.” Her husband did not abide by social climbing.

“Elite crowd?” Laurel’s interest piqued.

“Oh, you know of them, I’m sure. Those two architects Julian something? And Charles Garnier, supposed to be related to some great French architect from Paris. Designed a fancy cathedral and some Opera House that burned down. Then there’s that leader of theirs.” Her husband shivers.

“Leader?” Laurel knew who these people were, she had been trying for the last two years to get into their view.

“Ah yes, sweetheart you know, that eccentric. He is never seen without some sort of dramatic mask. No one has seen his face. The French, a strange bunch. They can all go back if you ask me. I have heard nothing positive about them. Drugs, murder,” her husband clicks his tongue in disgust.

“I believe he’s supposed to be well connected. The eccentric. He can make things happen.” Laurel feels her heart race.

“Making deals with devils is no way to get ahead. Use your own talents to achieve your goals.”

“Of course. You said that this dancer, Meg Giry? She’s among them?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t Lorne’s friend surname Giry?”

Her husband lowers the paper.

“I believe so, yes. But it is not her. She is too young. She is probably 14. She’d have to have been seven to be RC’s mother.” He raises the paper and continues to read.

“Let’s go to the ballet. Take Carl up on his offer.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”

And so, they went to the ballet. Laurel had no interest in the production, and it was all she could do to not fall asleep or just leave and wait in the lobby or the bathroom.

And when it was over, she prepared herself for introduction. If Carl had an in, she would be there with him.

“The stage manager is going let me have a private meeting with the ripe blonde.” He is practically drooling. Laurel hands him a tissue.

“She is a child,” Her husband reminds him.

“Nonsense! Dancers always look ten years younger than what they are.”

“Let’s hope you’re correct.”

The stage manager led them to Meg’s dressing room, where she is alone and surprised at this gathering.

“Meg, this is my friend Carl. Hope you don’t mind, he just wanted to say hi.”

“Ah, hello.” She quickly puts on a rob and covers herself. She extends her hand; Carl partially licks her hand with his kiss.

“You were a goddess!”

Meg cheeks flush, she covers her face with her hands, ever the demure woman. She laughs, the sound is light and cool.

“Do you offer private—”

“Mama!”

A child pushes his way through the adults and hugs the young woman. Laurel recognizes the boy, her son’s friend. This _is_ the woman she wanted to meet.

“I believe our children are friends. Perhaps we could set up some sort of play date this week?” Laurel smiled. Meg nodded, not being able to speak while her chatter box boy hugged her and demanded her full attention.

\--

* * *

RC always knew that his parents and their friends are not what you would call 'normal', and he knows he is not normal. He has always been above and beyond others, that includes adults.

 _“You’re a different breed, a new species if you will_ ,” his Papa had told him. He is different, and he did not have to slum it with humans, but they were useful.

_“Take heart, sweetheart. There is always someone who can use you, wants to use you, just as much as you can use them.”_

RC remembers a night where he learned a lesson about people and their true intentions.

RC’s parents invited Lorne and his parents over to a party they were hosting. The idea was that Lorne and RC would be distracted and out of the way, while the adults could play.

RC has a lot of toys and promised his Mama and Papa that they would stay in his toy room and would not bother the adults. They had to stay in the toy room until they were collected and put to bed. Lorne and RC promised several times that this would be followed.

Once the others arrived at the party, RC’s Mama handed them a snack plate, reminded them of their promise and followed the others to the living room.

RC and Lorne played princes and dragons, they destroyed all humans, the floor is lava and we can fly, but soon enough even their imaginations were drying up.

They decided to try a new game, the Ninja Avengers. They would sneak around the house, spy on the wicked and learn their secrets of their world.

They wrapped their faces with toilet paper and then did ninja sneaking. They took off their shoes just in case they made too much sound. They rounded the corner to spy the living room.

RC saw his Uncles Nadir and Charlie were by his Mama. Uncle Jules was on the ground. Mama was on the ground by his side, holding his hand.

“Jules,” Mama says soothingly. She used her other hand to caress his face.

“Jules, this is the third time this week your heart has been “broken.” Maybe _you’re_ the problem.” Uncle Charles blew smoke from his ciggy into his face. Uncle Jules responded with a rude gesture.

“Eternal torment! That is what this life has become because of the likes of you! If I knew I had to spend eternity with you, I would have told Erik to fuck off!”

Charles bends down and kisses Jules on the lips and pulls away before he is hit.

“Charles,” Mama sighs.

RC and Lorne both giggled. They covered their mouths with their hands and retreated and went off to find another more interesting room with adults.

They lowered themselves to floor and tried to keep to darkness and shadows. They gently push doors open, just enough to prevent as much sound as possible. It was not until they came across his parents bedroom that it got interesting.

“ . . . so far all I hear is that _you_ want something.” RC stops, that’s his Papa’s voice. He signals for Lorne to get down and lay on their belly and crawl forward.

There is little light, the only source is the lamp by the nightstand. Lorne’s mother is on her knees in front of Papa, who is seated on the chair by the vanity.

He changed into his lounge clothing, dark red silk PJs, a dark robe with a hood up and his mask is white, covering his entire face, his golden feline eyes shine through, they always come through.

“What do you want me to do, so I can have this?”

“Marguerite said you were her _dear_ friend.” He looks off to the right. Lorne’s mother grabs his hands, vying for his attention.

“I don’t dislike her, but what is she, what is her friendship compared to your favor?”

“What is it?”

He looks down at her.

“What? I don’t understand the question.” Lorne's mother says, she's confused, she does not let go of Papa's hands.

“My favor. What is it worth compared to her?” He pulls his hands away, Lorne's Mama falls forward, she composes herself. Lorne’s Mama does not speak for a long time.

“You have no answer.” Papa says, RC can tell he is amused. RC and Lorne sneak just a bit further in, sticking to darkness, as much as they can.

“You’re worth more. There is no measurement.” Lorne's Mama reaches for his hands again, she moves her body closer.

He considers this. He pulls her up and sets her onto his lap. He cups her face and plays with her hair.

“You used her to get to me.” His voice is a sweet melody. Lorne’s Mama nods.

“That’s not very nice. She speaks highly of you.” He turns her head side to side. He lets go and then taps her nose.

“I needed an in. A way to get to you, she was easy. There. She is naïve and it worked to my advantage. Am I to apologize for seeing an opportunity? Is it not something you would have done?”

He pinches her face with both hands and leans forward.

“You’re correct,” he turns his head, his masked face pressed against her cheek,” the problem is that you used my mate, and you offer me no amusement for me to let that pass.”

“I-“

He presses two fingers against her lips.

“Sshh.” He studies her for a moment.

“You want to use me for a favor, and yet I will gain nothing. We need an equal exchange for our relationship to be successful.”

Lorne’s Mama started to undress, Papa laughs and shakes his head.

“Not enough. A few minutes of a lame fuck is nothing. Tell me, has that ever gotten you truly far?” He pinches her chin and shakes her head back and forth.

RC sneezes.

He covers his face in horror, Lorne sneezes too. Papa slowly turns his head to their direction. RC can feel his heartbeat inside his head. He promised Papa he would not leave the toy room until he was called for, and now Papa saw that he broke the promise. He shakes with fear.

Papa carefully removes Lorne’s Mama from his lap, strides over to the bedroom door, he looks down at the boys, _into_ them. RC can feel his scorn, his anger, disappointment. He does not need to see Papa’s face to know he is not smiling at him.

Papa grabs both RC and Lorne roughly by the arms and pulls them inside the room.

“You want to see what your curiosity and disobedience brought you?”

He closes the door. He throws RC and Lorne to the floor before returning to Lorne’s Mama.

Papa turns his attention to RC. Lorne is too scared to speak, to move.

“Take heart, sweetheart. There is always someone who can use you, wants to use you, just as much as you can use them.”

He indicated Lorne’s Mama.

“Like this bitch for example, she used your Mama, abused her kindness and friendship so she could get something from _me_. She is unapologetic, aren’t we?” He says this to Lorne’s Mama, who says nothing.

“What say you, should we forgive her? Let this slight go?”

RC did not know what to say, but he didn’t want to annoy or anger his Papa, so he said what he thought he wanted to hear.

“No.”

“Ah, and why not?”

“She was mean to Mama.” RC is not sure if that is true or where the words came from, but it sounded right.

Papa claps his hands in glee and spins around to face Lorne’s Mama.

“Now let’s get to work.”

RC covers his eyes with his hands, he dares not peak. He sings the song his Mama sings to him when he is scared to block out the screaming.

\--

* * *

**12 Years Later, NYC**

“This is our best lead. Lorne Drexler.” Hadley says she drops the file on Nadir’s desk, he reaches for it and flips through it. RC’s ears perk up. He looks over.

“Lorne Drexler?”

“Yeah, know him?” Nadir asks, still flipping through the papers.

“He’s my best friend. What he do?”

“Murder.”

RC laughs.

“No, really.”

“Yes, really. He’s our main suspect. Everything points to him. Such a shame, I hate dealing with kid sociopaths.”

Hadley nods and sits against Nadir’s desk.

“They’re so damn arrogant. If you are so smart, why am I interviewing you, dumbass.”

“Lorne doesn’t kill people. He doesn’t even use flyswatters.” RC reaches for the file from Nadir.

“Sometimes people hide their dark places even from their closest relationships.” Hadley says.

“He’s _transparent_. I _know_ him. He would not kill anything or anyone. I see him tonight, I—"

“Kid, you’re an intern, not a detective.”

“Little one, this isn’t something that we—”

“Uncle, I’m not stupid. I’m not going to say, “so, have you murdered anyone lately and why didn’t we do it together,” I’ll just ask him how he’s been and what’s he been up to, what dates and locations was he supposedly doing murder things?”

“RC, if he is a killer—”

“Then we should arrest him, but I know he isn’t so, this will clear his name and we can find the real dick,”

“Your mother will kill me if anything happens to you.” Nadir rubs his temples.

“She’s more likely to give you Sad Face.”

“No. Mama’s don’t fuck around when it comes to our babies. If someone hurt my baby girl, I’d unleash the helliest hell.”

“My mother doesn’t feel negative emotions like that.”

“You mother has had her dark days, RC. We just don’t talk about it because it was pretty bad.”

“My Mama is a sun goddess, shut your damn mouth.”

“There are some things that are best left unknown to the children.”

“It’s cool, I’ll just read her diary.”

“Anyway, about this Lorne.”

“Leave it to me.”

“RC, I cannot let you do this, as an officer of the law, this is unorthodox and goes against—”

“You’re not asking me to do it, I’m telling you I’m doing it.”

“He may have found our loophole.”

Nadir curses in Farsi. He slams his head onto his desk.

* * *

**Seedy Club, Brooklyn.**

The lighting is terrible, the floors is sticky, and RC has to fight his feet to come off it. The space is way too small for the amount of people being let in, but this is the kind of dive that RC and his friends like to hang out at.

Lorne sound space at a small table near the stage and waves RC over. RC strides off, drops off their drinks and turns his attention to the stage, the band hasn’t started yet and the roadies aren’t doing sound check for a few more minutes.

“How’s Officer Giry?”

RC studies his friend. He looks for some kind of sign that says, “yes, I do enjoy the thrill of the kill,” he studies his fingernails, which is hard in this light. He looks at his shoes, which is not helpful since his shoes are worn anyway and he’s not sure what that proves.

“I bring coffee and annoy my Uncle. It’s a good gig.”

“I’ll trade you. Working with the dead isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

“You wanted to be medical examiner.”

“I’m going to be a dentist I think.”

“There you go.”

They sit in silence for a moment. RC is trying to find the right words.

“How have you been, Lorne?”

“Stressed. I’m not doing so great this semester. I may need to drop a class or find a tutor.”

“What do you do to relieve stress?”

“Oh you, know, kill prostitutes. Like usual.”

“Of course. Plans this weekend?"

“Yeah, killing more prostitutes.”

“Care to take a break, and do something different?”

“I don’t know, I’m getting really good at it.”

“You’re coming over.”

“Fine.”

“But what have you really been up to?”

“School. Work. Taking care of mother.”

RC feels a pang of quilt but quickly dismisses it.

“How is she?”

“She’s mother. She still refuses to eat; she won’t go to sleep. I have to fight her to just to get her to drink water. She was never this bad.”

“Maybe you need help.”

“I do need help, but I can’t. I promised Dad, I would take her of her myself. No outside interference.”

“You can only do so much.”

“Yeah, I know. So, how’s your Papa doing?”

“He’s well.”

“That’s good, I would hate for him to be miserable.”

“Right.”

“And your Mama?”

“She and Papa broke up again, so she moved in with Uncle Charles until she finds a new place.”

“She can stay with me, she’s hot.”

“Yeah, no.”

“But she is though, hot.”

“I’m not hearing this.”

“I don’t know why your Papa would dump her, I bet she’s really—”

“Stop. Now.”

“She’s probably really flexible and bendy. Which, there are a lot of positions that is good for, I’ve read the—”

“I will hurt you.”

Lorne laughs while RC glares something fierce. Lorne stops, those golden feline eyes are intense, and Lorne is afraid of them.

The lights go down and the music begins.

* * *

**_2012_ **

_RC must be very sneaky as he sneaks back into the home. He promised his Mama long ago that he would not climb out or jump out his window anymore, but there are other ways to leave and go on midnight adventures._

_He is back, tired, and ready for sleep. He slowly opens and quietly closes the door, makes sure that it clicks but the sound is minimal._

_He starts forward but stops. Strange lights circle around the room. He can hear laughing. He focuses and he can see his parents are lying on the ground, half dressed, holding onto each other as they laugh madly._

_He’s never seen them in this state before._

_“Sssh, shhh. You’ll wake RC.” He hears his Mama say. She taps Papa’s arm. She cannot stop laughing and he moves over to kiss her, his mask still on and forgotten about._

_“You silly goat, it’s still on.” She reaches for it; he catches her wrist._

_“Any regrets about tonight? ”_

_“I have many regrets, none of them involve you.”_

_He takes off his mask and his lips devour hers and RC uses this as his chance to escape._

_He is halfway free when there comes a terrible CRASH and strange muffled noises. He hears his parents curse. His Papa, mask back on, runs down the hall to the noise, he stops when he sees RC._

_“I can’t sleep.” He says, he rubs his eyes. His Mama comes up from behind him._

_“Take him to bed.” Papa says before he heads into the room where the crash came from. Mama leads RC into his room and tucks him in._

RC wakes up. He shakes the memories from his head and tries to back to sleep.

\--

* * *

RC makes his way to Nadir’s desk and hands him the coffee and sits down across from him.

“Do you ever have dreams about your time with Papa in Persia?”

“I do. Why?”

“Do they ever go away?”

“No.”

“He’s not a very good guy is he?”

Nadir exhales deeply.

“He loves you, he’s _awful_ when he wants to be, but he loves you.”

“What about Mama? He love her too?”

“I think he loves her the most.”

“Then why does he do it?”

“I do not understand the way his mind works. I never will.”

“I don’t think Lorne did it, but I don’t blame if he is fucked. Papa has a way of poisoning people, doesn’t he?”

“RC,”

“I want to help with the case. I don’t mean as your coffee runner, organize files, I want to _help._ ”

* * *

Sorelli burst through the door, drops her suitcase and heads to the main living area. Charles and Meg are snuggled on the sofa watching a movie.

“Oh, gods. Why are we watching this?” Meg covers her eyes with her hands. Charles is unfazed.

“That’s painful. Who are the main characters? Everyone we followed is dead and we have an hour left of this movie.”

“And hour?!”

“I think so, according to the time.”

“What else can they do? Everyone who was our eyes just died!”

Charles shrugs.

Sorelli coughs. Charles turns his head. Meg looks behind as well.

“Hello.”

“What, uh, what is this?” Sorelli tries to smile, but it does not reach her eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” She asks innocently.

“I told you to go away. I do not want to—I don’t have time for this. You see yourself out.” Charles turns back around to the movie.

“Charlies, are you sure you don’t want to—”

“I have nothing left to say. We are done. Ellie, I know you’re there, go back to hell, thanks.”

“Charlies I—”

“It’s done. Nothing left to say.”

“Are—

“Meg leave it.”

Sorelli storms out of the room, out of the building and screams. She kicks the wall, her fists go through, causes the wall to crack, split, break. 

* * *

Sorelli sees herself into his home, she kicks open the bedroom door and is unfazed and not embarrassed by their present state.

"We have a problem."

Christine covers herself with the sheets.

"What kind of problem?"

Erik reaches over and puts his mask back on.

"Tell me, do you know where your Meg is?"


	15. Chapter 15

**New York 1960**

Meg long stopped listening to the random tangent and prattle of the young aspiring artist. She did not stand a chance, as soon as she and Erik parted when they entered the art factory party, this young lad had her cornered.

“ . . it is really a movement that I started. It was an accident, but most great discoveries and movements start that way.” He says. When he has ceased speaking, Meg nods. She has no idea what is going on. Everyone here is a bit odd.

“Do you want to see a demonstration?”

Meg looks past him, all the “artists” are in a strange daze. The artist pulls at her arm and shows him some sketches.

“This is one I did last week.” He sighs happily. He flips the pages and tilts the art so Meg can see. Meg frowns, she can smell something odd, awful. Like rust. Meg feels sharp static wreck her mouth.

“It looks like blood smears.” She says. She does not want to touch it.

“It is. I told you.” He flips the page and there are blood smears, these appear to be violent.

“You use your blood.” Meg pales and her stomach pings. She looks for the nearest exit. She cannot see well, her head feels heavy with clouds, muggy, like a storm is threatening violence. Meg is not safe here.

“What is this movement called?” Her voice is squeaky, she prays he doesn't notice.

“BST. Blood, Sweat, Tears.” He's not paying much attention to her, he's lost in his work. He traces the blood smears longingly. Meg waits him to kiss the page.

“Of course, it is.” Meg fights her panic.

“Can I draw you?” His face lights up, his eyes are hungry. Meg feels like a shark just asked her how she'd like to be eaten.

“With your blood? I’m—I rather not. I don’t think I’m worthy of that.” Meg waves her hands in the negative, she moves away and bends backwards.

“I wouldn’t use _my_ blood.” She exhales in relief. She lets herself relax. 

“I’d use yours. Your image, your blood.” He holds onto her hand and reaches inside his pocket. Meg quickly takes back her hand.

“I need the bathroom.”

Meg walks briskly away. She finds Erik lying down on a sea of pillows. She sits down next to him and holds onto his hand.

“Erik, my love, can we go home? Please?” She pulls at him, trying to get him motivated. Her heart is smothered by cold fear. Her body is pings pins and needles.

“Home? Now?” He is on something; she knows that for sure. He plays with her hand that holds his and pulls Meg down into his arms and wraps himself around her.

“We can’t go home now,” he breaths into her ear,” the party hasn’t started yet.” He rests his chin on her shoulder.

“It hasn’t? Are you sure?” She is afraid and his touch, his hold offers no comfort. She wants to cry and to run. The wolves are in these woods and she has no hunter or weapons to protect her.

“Sure, sure, sure.” He sings. He moves his hands like he is conducting the music of the night. He gets lost in his mind. He hums an old song Meg does not know. Those songs are meant to be forgotten. She suppresses a shiver.

“I think it has. The people are high, like you. Drinks and food are being handed out.” She looks around, the wait staff have left long ago.

“This is the pregame, pet.” He kisses her shoulder, before biting it gently.

“The pregame.” She moans softly, she tries to fight pleasure, the fear is still here, screaming. She needs to get out of this place.

“You’ll know when it starts.” He teases.

A strange creature stops in front of the couple and hands Erik a bag. He takes it like a child being handed sweets.

“Join me.” He opens the bag and offers some fun. She shakes her head and removes herself from his embrace.

“I’ll pass.”

“Fifteen minutes.” He plays with the bag. Meg walks around. There is something she cannot shake about this place. Strange people running around dressed as barn animals, people walking like zombies. She feels very odd. This is a warehouse, a large empty space, whatever was here before, is gone now. Something chills her spine, the purpose of the visit.

“Where is the art?”

This is supposed to be an art gallery, at least that is what Erik said. They were going out to a gallery for some fun, just the two of them. This is an empty factory full of humans and weirdness.

The lights go out. Meg stops. Red lights, emergency lights, fill the room. Meg hears odd noises, growls, howls and then _screaming_. She looks around, people are being attacked by those dressed as animals!

Meg tries to weave in and out of people but gets stopped when she runs into someone.

“Erik?”

He changed his outfit and mask. Gold. It looks sinister in the shadow and red haze. He is an angry, hungry, lustful, old god. Meg resists the sudden desire to drop to her knees and beg for mercy.

He holds out his hand. She is hesitant before she offers hers, he leads her to the center of the room. There is a table, that was not there before. There are two place settings, a cake is in the center, two wine glasses

He pulls out the chair for her, she sits. She is shaking. She leans forward to get a better look of the cake. He picks up a rather large knife and cuts a piece of cake. He carefully removes his gloves and hums a song she does not recognize. He places his gloves onto the empty plate across from Meg. He smooths out pesky wrinkles. He double checks their condition before he moves on.

The screams, howls, cries of help and pain do not cease. Meg can smell blood. Her stomach drops. She is shaking. Her legs have a mind of their own and she shakes the table with movement.

“Blood. Sweat. Tears.” She whispers, the realization stabs her soul. She wants to vomit, to lay down and cry and die. This cannot be real. She wants to run, but her legs are useless.

“What do you think? Performance art. I could like it.” He stands tall as the murder of shadows dance behind him in red light.

Meg says nothing. Her voice ran away. Meg digs her nails into the palms of her hands, she bites her bottom lip until it bleeds.

Erik picks up a towel from the table, uses the knife to pick up the piece, gently lowers it on top of the towel which he uses to hold the cake, without making a mess of his exposed fingers. Erik will not abide by a mess.

“Here, open wide.” He offers her the cake, wanting to physically feed it to her.

Her eyes are wide. He’s moving closer and the cake stops in front of her mouth, she opens, he pushes it gently. She chews, swallows and forces herself to smile, it doesn't reach her eyes, but she makes herself smile. Erik is appeased, and turns his attention elsewhere. Meg bows her head and lets out her breath.

_This is insane._

Meg fails to fight back her tears. Erik is completely mad if he thinks that any of this is okay.

“Happy anniversary.” He coos.

Goosebumps form all over her body and she becomes ice. He is holding a package and he sets it down in front of her. Meg honestly did not expect him to remember or want to celebrate their years together. In the previous years, he was rather casual about it. She would be lucky if she got more than a card or a vocal sentiment. This year she had managed to get track of something he has been searching for, for years. She had it hidden in their apartment.

It appears that he found it, he is holding it.

“You’re excellent at hiding things, lover.”

She nods. She stares at the wrapped package.

“Well? Open it.” He is growing irritated. Not good. She slowly, with trembling hands, unwraps the gift. A wooded square-shaped box. She looks at him, he moves his hands in a circular, “get a move on,” motion.

She opens the box.

Inside on a red plush fabric is a small, ruby human heart shaped broach. It is beating, pumping, as if it were truly alive.

“It’s beating.” She laughs despite herself.

“Of course, it is, it’s alive.” He scoffs. He carefully works on his present. He pulls out, what appears to be incredibly old designs of some kind. He is stunned. His turn to have shaking hands. He looks at Meg and then back at what he is holding.

“Where’d you get this?”

“I had some people look and they found it in a tomb.”

“A tomb.”

“I thought you’d like that.”

“I love you.”

80 years together and those words were never spoken until now. Erik does not realize he said it at first. They just jumped from his throat and off his tongue.

She smiles.

“You’re welcome.”

He places the designs back into the envelope, he walks to Meg, lifts his mask just enough to kiss her lips.

“Stay with me.” He presses his forehead against hers.

“Forever.” She says.

“Forever.” It is not a command, but pleading, begging. He is small and needs someone to hold him, tell him it is going to okay, and the fire will be put out, Meg found the water.

He allows himself to be vulnerable, bare. In this moment. He does not want to exist without her. She can feel his tension.

“I’m yours. Always.” She kisses his masked lips. She means it.

That is what he needs to hear. He holds onto her until the last artist dies.

* * *

**NYC, Present**

Meg holds the broach and plays with it. Charles is fuming like a manic with rage issues. He tears through the apartment, ripping pictures from walls and throwing them out the window.

Raoul joins Meg on the sofa and stares into the space. She reaches for his hand and they sit together in silence.

Charles has a collection of recordings of his favorites operas and ballets. He drops them to the ground, stomps on them, and throws the pieces out the window like sad confetti.

He rages, screams, rants, turns over sculptures and throws whatever he can pick up.

“Charles.”

He’s not of the world anymore. No one exists in this place. There is only darkness. A pool of black cancer thick as oil washes over to his feet.

His blood and veins boil with hot hatred. He wants to be Death’s vessel and leave his mortal coil. He longs for that sweet siren call.

“Charles.”

He grabs a turned over sculpture and throws it out the window.

“Why are you doing this?”

He ignores her. She is just dust. He moves past the sofa.

“I can wait.” She says. She looks at Raoul, he is vacant. She frowns.

He moves to the bookshelf and removes several books and throws them into the fire.

“When there’s nothing left to burn.” Raoul says as he lights up a cigarette.

“If this is love, I don’t want it.” Charles punches the mantle of the fireplace. He breaks his hand. It’s bleeding and mangled. He punches again and again.

Meg steps up and grabs him arm, stopping a third attempt.

“She’s not worth losing your hand.”

“I gave her everything. Everything that I had.”

“She’s a parasite,” Raoul says as he blows smoke. He tries to entertainment him with shapes.

“I loved her.”

“She used you until she was full. She was never going to give you her heart. You knew that.” Meg says gently. She rubs his back.

“She was there when I needed I someone. She held me up.”

“She manipulated you.”

“Why are you here? Why are the both of you here?”

“You’re our friend.”

“I don’t want a friend. I want her.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have sent her away. I should have—”

“She’s no good for you.”

“What did I do wrong? You’re a woman, what should I have done?”

“You did everything you could have done.”

“Then why isn’t she here!” He pushes off from the mantle and sits down on the sofa, Raoul offers him a cigarette and lights it.

“She’s not a pair. She never intended to be your forever girl. You are fun and when it is boring, she finds a new ride, until she needs another Charles go around. I’m sorry, but you need to hear this.”

“You know where she is right now, don’t you? Who she is with?”

“I do.”

Meg smiles sadly and joins the men on the sofa. She sits between them, holding a hand of each.

“Is that why you’re here? Revenge fuck?”

“My friends are sad and heartbroken. I’m here to help and to listen. We’re not the revenge type. Sex is not a weapon. Chuck, you know that is not you. Same for you Raoul. You’re both better than that.”

“What can you possibly say to make any of this olay?” She kisses Charles cheek, and Raoul’s.

“You’re both my dear friends and if either of you do something stupid I’ll be very cross with you. Now let’s fix your hand, Samson.”

“Samson?”

“Oh, you know. He had perfect hair and would totally rage punch objects like a goon.”

“Thanks.”

“Is this why we were chosen,” Raoul asks in a quiet voice,” why we were “chosen” for his collection?”

“He’s a lonely god walking along a path of darkness. We’re his torch.” Meg uses a towel to wipe away the blood on Charles’s hand.

“You don’t hate him.”

“Never.”

“Why.”

“I _know_ him. I’ll never hate him. No matter how much he hurts me or pushes me away.”

“You could leave. You can walk away now. He wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m content where I am.” She wraps bandages around Charles’s wounded hand.

“How many times has he betrayed you?” Raoul scoffs. He shakes his head. He will never understand Meg.

“That is a silly thing to do, to keep a record. Life’s too precious to waste on such petty things.”

“Why couldn't I find you first?” Charles kisses the top of Meg’s head.

“We’re platonic soulmates. We found each other in the end.”

“Platonic soulmates.”

“You’re my best friends. You keep me sane and my smile.” Raoul shakes her hand that he holds. Charles rests his head against hers.

“He will ruin you one day.”

“Jules was his first piece to his “collection.” He survived. So will I, so will Nadir, and so will the both of you.”

“Fuck. I forgot about that. Jules _was_ his first.”

“First collected, first loved, first abused, first neglected, and first to be replaced and forgotten.”

“That’s why you take care of him.”

“He hates me, he’s kind and doesn’t show it, but I know. It is fine. I do not blame him. I understand.”

“So, Jules was first, but you replaced him, Christine replaces you, and Sorelli trumps everyone when he’s in the mood.”

“Something like that.”

“The prized menagerie are we.”

“Aren’t we lucky. The toys of a dark elder god.”

“Dance, monkey!”

“You first.”

Charles stands up and holds out his arm, Meg accepts, and he leads around the apartment, making up the choreography as he goes, Meg adds her to keep it going.

They end their dance and settle back down on the sofa.

“I can’t turn it off.” Raoul says. He hits his heart with his fist. “I think that I can just stop, that it will go away. But then I will see a scarf that she left behind, it smells like her, and matches her eyes.”

“Love is never meant to be easy. They call it a crush for a reason you know.”

“Ellie kicks in her sleep. She laughs sometimes. But the kicking is constant. I would wake up so sore. I miss it, it’s stupid, but I miss it.”

“Erik cries in his sleep. He has these _horrific_ nightmares. I would sing to him, to get him to calm down, he says he hates my voice, that is it’s an insult to music. He compares me to Christine; her voice is godly. He always tries to push me away. I do not let him, not when he is in that state. I hold his hand, and eventually he pulls close and he demands me to stay.”

“Christine never hangs up her towels.”

“Erik folds his small clothes.”

“Sorelli likes to watch herself climax.”

“Erik likes to get me angry before sex, says I perform better.”

“Christine will always love him more than me.”

“Erik is the same. He will always love her, prefer her.”

“What do we do?”

“Carry on. Build a life for yourself.”

“What helps you, Meg?”

“I’m a ghost. I walk among this world, but I’m not really here. As long as he’s with Christine I can travel free. I know he will be happy.”

“Can I be a ghost too?”

“You’re too loud and pretty.”

The friends are silent for a moment.

“My son asked me to visit this weekend and I told him I was going to Canada for two weeks. The truth is he looks and acts so much like Erik, I think I would have a nervous breakdown. How do you tell your son, that he will break your mind?”

“Go to Canada.” Raoul says. Charles nods.

“By myself for two weeks? I do not know. I’d be lonely.”

“We’ll go.” Charles says, Raoul shrugs.

“Oh? A trip for the broken in need of healing. I like.”

“This will be good for us.”

“I need to be away from this city, from here.”

“Same.”

“Then its settled. Canada is not prepared.”


	16. I’m Persephone, you’re my Hades, and I will make you crawl if you think otherwise”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slice of life stuff for fun.

* * *

_"So go on, love  
Leave while there's still hope for escape  
You gotta take what you can these days  
There's so much ahead and so much regret  
I know what you want to say  
I know it but can't help feeling differently  
I loved you and I should have said it  
But tell me just what has it ever meant?"  
_

_**Kill, Jimmy Eat World** _

* * *

**Sweden April 2000**

“He asked me to marry him.” Christine says. She feels odd saying it out loud, she’s been down this road before. The idea of marriage is something she feels she should want, desire, and be content with. A husband to have and to hold, to carry on their years together, in a little house, with memories of a grand life and love that surrounds them.

“Is that what you want?” Meg asks into her wine glass. She knows the answer. This is a dance she has perfected. Christine gets scared of the future, of someone good and stable. She knows what she will have with Raoul if she takes that path. She will be safe and warm. Stability waits. Such a pretty perfect white picket fence, the beautiful house on the left.

“I don’t know. I should want this. This is what we were told to aspire to. A husband, kids, grow old, die.” Christine looks beyond Raoul and there he is.

“You’re comfortable.” Meg watches Sorelli dance. Charles has long given up trying to keep with her, she's moved on. She has her eyes on Erik, who is being coy. He ignores her, while he keeps track of her every breath.

“Is it wrong to crave a little danger?” Christine tries to look innocent. That she is not waiting for him to see her, approach her, want her, demand her and she will fight and resist until her passions betray her.

He is _dangerous_ , there is no stable ground where he walks, it’s dark out there and monsters hide in the shadows that wait, and they _fear_ him, because he is bigger, meaner, _their lord and master_. He makes her blood turn cold, and she likes it. She can’t trust herself with him, she knows where she stands with Raoul, but never with Erik, and that’s where the fun is.

“This wine isn’t enough vodka.” Meg hands Christine her glass and walks away. She keeps her head low and leaves the party.

She runs up the stairs and she does not realize that she’s doing it, that she's outside on the roof now, or that she’s standing on the ledge. She holds her arms out wide and closes her eyes. The cool air is beautiful, and heaven sent. She is one with everything. She can see herself shed her mortal coil, there is nothing left but her crumpled dress.

Someone touches her back, she turns, loses her footing and she falls backwards. Hands reach out as she tries to grab onto them, but it is too late, she is falling.

Her body crushes the car, and the owner is late for his mother’s funeral. He thinks,

“Too bad, she was pretty.”

* * *

Voices, loud, fighting, angry.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

Sorelli ignores the idiots and watches Meg lying on the table. She is deathly still. Christine weeps silently in some corner, probably because this means she’s still stuck with her Raoul all bread sandwich, Charles cries outside in the hall, because he just remembered he loves Meg more than he loves Sorelli, and Nadir plays Daddy, and tries to keep Jules from being punched through the face—again.

Meg’s fingers twitch. Sorelli sighs in annoyance. The bitch took long enough. She walks over to the table; she wants to slap her.

Meg’s nose and eyes start to twitch, her eyes flutter and then they open wide. Sorelli lowers her face into her hers, just inches from touching

“Welcome back, bitch.”

She stands up straight and leaves the men to their devices. Meg sits up, very confused. She looks at her hand, her empty hand, she could have sworn she had been holding a drink. The images flood and confuse her.

“Where’d my vodka go?” She whines. She pouts and looks around the morgue. She is not impressed, very confused, and now has no vodka to numb whatever pain she forgot she was trying to numb in the first place.

Erik pushes past everyone; he jumps on the table, climbs onto Meg and demonstrates how much he loves her in front of everyone.

The others leave in a hurry.

\--

* * *

**January 19 th 2001**

**“ . . .** lost a large amount of blood, we were able to stop it, but she went into cardiac arrest and—”

Erik looks beyond them. She has so many tubes crammed in her mouth, her hands. She looks like the eighteen-year-old she once was. So small, fragile, pathetic blonde thing. He was unconscious for the first three days he was with her. They met before he knew her.

“ . . . we don’t know if she will wake up.”

* * *

_“I didn’t know if you would be hungry when you woke up, or what you like, so I brought you a few different options. This is broth, you should probably start with that and bread!”_

_Meg holds up a mug and a baguette._

_“I’m glad you’re awake. Oh, sorry.” Meg puts down the food, she flattens out her dress and takes a deep breath. She extends her hand towards him._

_“My name is Meg Giry, and it’s very, very nice to meet you.”_

* * *

“Erik, do you want to meet your son?” Nadir wants to distract him. He knows that a quiet Erik is an emotionally unstable dangerous Erik and he wants to help his friend stay stable, stay on a gray path, if not light.

“Erik?”

Erik has no interest; he walks out of the room and leans against the wall. There is almost nothing that Erik has not experienced in his long life. He’s committed many vile atrocities, conversely he's done many charitable things, he’s not thought much about a family life, and when it was rapidly approaching he felt something he hasn’t felt in a long time: the fear that came with excitement of the unknown.

 _She_ is the only one he would consider having a family with and _it_ damn near killed her. He’s seen the vile fiend, it’s beautiful, _because course of it_ is. It has _his_ eyes, perfect angelic features, that must be from _her_. He clenches his fists tightly. He wants to kill so badly; he cannot see or think straight.

Small neck, quick, snuff the life, and it would be over. He could move on, it would be fair, it would be _just_. _It_ did its best to take _her_ away.

“He’s pretty.” Nadir says. He wants, needs Erik to be okay.

“He has your freaky, freaky eyes.” Nadir is trying to keep things light.

“ _Don’t_.”

Nadir flinches. Erik is oscillating on the edge of darkness beyond redemption. There are some things even Meg cannot forgive. Nadir looks at his friend’s intense gaze, he does not need to see his face to guess what the other man is thinking. He knows him.

“Meg will never forgive you. She may be incapable of hating you, but she will never forgive you.” Nadir reaches out to him intending to offer comfort. Erik grabs his arm, twists it, breaks it, and walks back into Meg’s room. Nadir bites back tears of pain and holds onto his mangled arm.

\--

* * *

She’s been asleep for four days, Sleeping. That’s how he has to think of it or he will probably go madder than he already is. He remembers what she did for him when he’s unconscious those first three days. She brought food, which he did, she even read him some book.

* * *

_“I saw your bookshelves and the art, I figured you were a reader, so I read you my favorite stories. I know it’s silly, but I thought it would at least fill your mind with something peaceful."_

* * *

Meg’s favorite stories were Greek Tragedies and myths.

 _“_ _Everyone says you’re **Satan** , which is just _ **false** _. You’re obviously **Hades** and that makes me **Persephone** ," She dances around his spider's web._

_This was their dance of the midnight waltz. He circles around her, like an apex predator sizing up his prey. This is their twisted foreplay._

_“Hades **abducted** his queen, that would make **Christine my** Persephone.” First strike, just to stun, to hurt, you toy with your prey first. He loves the game almost as much as the kill._

_If she flinched, she didn't show it, she smiles, predicable blow, but it still hurts. She shakes her head after a quick recovery, she offers her parry:_

_“False again! She’s a **siren** , her song always leads you back to her and ruin. **I’m** Persephone, you’re **my** Hades, and **I will make you crawl** if you think otherwise” She taps his chest with her index finger._

_Erik grabs her and pushes her against the wall, and he forgets about the world, Christine and he takes his mighty queen._

* * *

He reads her the stories, the others leave him be. The nurses and doctors have long stopped intervening to remind him of visiting hours, it only takes one violent death to get the message.

His voice has never failed him before, he’s sung her favorite songs, read her stories, sang new melodies and she remains still. Lifeless. His voice is his greatest weapon, but what is that now?

He puts the book down, leans over her. He has never said the words, not intentionally, and not without manipulative jest or a threat. He brings his masked lips to her ear and for the first time, perhaps last time.

“I love you.”

He waits for a moment just in case it is magical.

He looks at her machines, he reaches for her hand, it should not be so still. She is always moving, posing, she mocks him with jazz hands and mad movements and gestures that she says is all him.

“ _You gesture like a **hiiiiiiiiiigh** conductor!” She wiggles and exaggerates her words and movements. He was angry about something, and she started laughing and waved her arms like a balloon losing air and flying in the sky._

Anyone else, he would strike down, bring them to their knees. Christine would not dare, she would back away in fear as soon as his ire and fire erupts, she flees from the volcanic ash and oncoming storm of his violence.

Not **her** , not Meg. She laughs in his face as he brings hell upon the world, and then boops his mask.

He kisses her cheek through his mask, and he turns away. 

The softest of sounds brings his attention back. She's trying to breathe! He jumps onto her bed, straddles her, and pulls out all the tubes and holds onto her face, he waits, he's not hearing things, seeing things, he may be entirely mad, but he knows what he saw.

“Orpheus?”

His heart breaks. He presses his masked face against her. He does his best to not weep. 

“I’m not Eurydice.” Meg rasps.

Her eyes are still closed, her voice is weak, not above a whisper. She sounds like she swallowed a month’s worth of glass and sandpaper.

“Persephone.” He murmurs, he runs his fingers through her hair, her body is too cold.

Silence, no more movement on her end. He stays still. If he only could be brave enough and just snap her neck, then all of this would be over. He feels his hands start to move.

Such thoughts! 

He is not sure, maybe he is finally gone, and she died and he’s alone with a corpse. At least that is something he could handle, he could fix a corpse, not a sleeping beauty, forever separated from him, not dead, not truly alive either. He's been _praying_ for her death, that way he can fix it, be with her, not suffer this cruel living separation. 

“Hades is **late** , it’s winter at the castle.” Her features change slightly, she's trying to scowl.

“ **You’re** late.” He leans in, stopping before his masked face touches hers.

She opens her eyes.

“This isn’t our bed.”

He shakes his head no.

“I was doing something important. . .”

He grabs both of her hands and only wants the world to exist for him and his Persephone.

\--

* * *

The nurse brings the baby to Meg and she giggles, she turns to Erik.

“I **knew** I was doing something important!”

“We’re very proud of you, dear.” Erik still is not sure where he wants to stand with the baby, their brood, seed, spawn. Meg is thrilled, she almost died bringing it into the world, and she loves it. Erik doesn’t think he can do the same.

“We’re going to love you so much it’s stupid. What was his name again? Raoul Jules Giovanni Shah Khanum Sasha Giry?”

“I _will_ **kill** before I name my child any of those names.”

“Reza-Charles Giry, you old softie.” Meg winks.

“Better.” He tries to play nonchalant.

“Hey, he has your freaky, freaky, cat eyes.”

“I’ve noticed.” He tries to remain unimpressed and bored.

“Maybe he’ll be just as hyper nerd as you. Hey! Let’s have him drive us home.”

Erik says nothing. He has no interest in bonding.

“Erik?”

The seriousness of her tone captures his full attention. He moves towards her.

“I love you too.”

* * *

“These trivia questions are stupid.” RC, now seven, is stuck at home because his school had to close because of a nasty infestation and it is going to take weeks before the students and faculty can safely return. Being stuck at home with his family is the worst.

In order to have the family life she has always wanted and what Erik had been denied by his mother, Meg insisted and enforced game nights. Nadir, obviously was included on these nights. Have a quick fix it dinner (that only Nadir and Meg ate, because Erik and RC literally have no appetite for food) and the game bring it on.

It was a slow week for entertainment and work on Erik's end so he's been lounging around in very silky red PJ's that cost more than Nadir's house and car combined, he also chose to wear this full face red and gold mask that he knew Meg hated, just to irritate her. The kiddo chose a trivia game. He always picks the trivia game and then complains about it.

Erik is longing for some kind of amusement. He hasn't been high for 12 hours and he is getting twitchy and he needs to do something or someone soon before his blood expels from his veins,

“They’re not that bad.” Meg says, she takes a card and turns to her trivia buddy Nadir.

“First person in space.”

He has a wicked glint in his eye

“Neil Diamond.”

RC and Erik pretend not to be annoyed. RC digs his nails into the palms of his hands and his father has his mask to hide behind. When your whole damn face is covered, you get away with a lot.

“Really, Uncle?”

“I believe he means Yuri Smirnoff.” Meg says in a serious voice. She sits up straight, shoulders back, very studious.

“No,” Nadir snaps his fingers, “Not Neil, it **is** a Russian. What was it?” He holds his head. He taps his feet and the table shakes, moving the cards, Erik and RC pick up their drinks to spare any loss, even if it be just a drop.

“Laika!” Meg and Nadir both shout and high five. Erik squeezes his glass a bit too hard, it turns to dust. RC wipes the residual residue from his shirt.

“Ten points!” Meg says as she places the card in the used pile.

“The answer isn’t the fucking dog, play it right or fuck off.” Erik stands up to replace his drink.

“Temper, temper!” Meg says, she arches a brow and gives him the,  
“like seriously,” gesture and face.

“Papa, has a point, you’re just trying to piss us off.”

“This is a really stupid one.” Meg puts it back, “ like no one knows this and I’m not even going to try.”

Erik grabs her wrist and turns the card over.

"Tchaikovsky" 

"Now we're just making up words." 

"You're an insufferable torment." He eyes burn through the mask. He doesn't ease up on his hold of her wrist.

"You're an intolerable irritant." She uses her free hand to boop his mask, but he slams it down onto the table.

"Erik," Nadir warns. RC steps away from the table, unsure of what to do.

Meg stares into his burning golden feline eyes, unblinking. He moves quickly, he straightens up, pulls her around the table and strides out of the family room towards their bedroom, leading her in hot electric sensual silence.

"So, they're out and by default my team wins."

"How, Uncle?"

"Guest rules."

"That's not a thing."

He shakes his head.

* * *

**2011 Nadir’s home**

RC’s head is in the toilet. Nadir is trying hard not to scream in Farsi. He paid a good amount of money for those Persian delights and RC ate them, which, RC never eats anything ever, so why now?

Once his stomach has been emptied RC curls up in a fetal position on the floor. He is waiting for death.

“Not everyone can handle Persia.” Nadir says to Erik when he finds them. Erik looks at his son’s crumpled pitiful form on the floor.

“That’s not it.”

He walks over and bends down and examines him.

“I thought he would be more _her_.”

“He is basically a small version of you.”

“I noticed.”

Erik places a towel under RC’s head. He has a glass of water that leaves by his side.

“I think he’ll be okay in the morning.” Nadir says.

“How much did it cost you?”

“Don’t worry about it, you always cover me when we go out.” Nadir waves his hand dismissively.

“True.”

He watches his son. RC lifts his head up, first time he noticed he was there.

“I’m dying.” He says weakly. He drinks the water.

“Not today.”

He opens his arms and RC moves forward and uses Erik as a bed and pillow. He closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

"I wanted to hate him." Erik looks down at his son and pulls him into a more comfortable position.

"And now?"

"If anything happens to him, I will make this world burn."

"That's a good Papa!" Nadir laughs.

* * *

**2011, NYC,**

RC and Lorne are having a sleep over, but instead of staying at the main penthouse, they are using the house on the lake aka “That stupid crypt keeper manor,” as his mother loathingly calls it.

Erik is having the entire penthouse renovated, he’s bored with the current style, so while work is being done, he had them move to his preferred property, the Stupid-Crypt-Keeper-Manor, house on the lake.

“Please stay in your room this time boys,” Meg pleads. She kisses her son’s nose and boops Lorne’s.

“I’m going to bed, but I will be back to check on you.” She gives them a stern look, the sternest look Meg can give anyway, while pointing motherly and authoritative. Erik is the disciplinarian of the pair. He is **good** at it, **loves** it, **thrives** from it.

Meg blows kisses before she turns off the light and closes the door.

The boys get bored of telling stories to scare each other and then start on a series of dares.

“I dare you to sneak into your parent’s room!” Lorne says.

“But you have to come with me!”

Lorne and RC get back into ninja mode. They crawl on their bellies down the hall and find their destination, the door isn’t quite closed. The boys giggle, before they slowly and gently push open the door.

“I promised I’d take good care of you.”

RC recognizes his Papa’s voice, he motions for Lorne.

Lorne and RC both, “shhhh,” fingers pressed to their lips as they stay low and spy.

The only light for the room comes the nightstand, it does more to heighten shadows and an create a sinister atmosphere, than add proper illumination.

RC and Lorne crawl forward to get a better view. They are ever the curious boys.

Erik’s back is towards the boys, he does not see them, know of them. His attention entirely given towards the occupant of his bed, Jules.

With his index and middle fingers, he lifts Jules head up, using his chin. With the agility of a cat he transfers himself onto the bed, straddling Jules, and placing both his arms on either side of Jules, trapping him.

“Remember the _fun_ we used to have? Before Charles and the others,” Erik says softly, enticingly.

Jules nods

RC and Lorne look at each other, unsure of what is happening, but they are transfixed. They cannot move nor look away.

“When it was just us, you and me?”

Jules closes his eyes. He remembers.

“I’d just click my tongue or snap my fingers, and you’d appear, whenever, wherever I wanted you?”

His voice is everywhere, RC and Lorne try to follow it in vain.

Erik moves just enough and Jules moans. Erik lowers his head and he begins, he moves Jules head ever so slightly. That is when Jules notices them, RC and Lorne.

They both make a mad dash under the bed. They try not to laugh or breathe too loudly, to give away their station. The bed shifts. Someone is off the bed. The fear sets in.

 _“If I find you, you will regret it.”_ RC’s Papa says, his voice is melodic and sweet, but RC knows he is very, very, angry.

“I think they’re under the bed.”

RC curses his Uncle Jules to hell. It’s now or never. RC doesn’t know where his speed came from, but he moves as fast as he can and he gets the hell out of there, Lorne is hot on his heels.

Meg sighs and covers her eyes in shame and disappointment. Charlies lights up another ciggy and Nadir makes shapes with smoke.

* * *

**2016**

Gideon Clark and RC have been standing in silence front of RC’s parents. Meg has been waiting patiently, but this is getting beyond now.

“I know, you’ve solved the crisis.” She nods, she crosses her arms, rather proud like.

“Crisis.” RC says, he has never been unable to communicate anything to his Mother. They are close. He usually can tell her anything.

“The, what’s for dinner tonight crisis. Haven’t you heard? It is wreaking havoc across the state. I just don’t know how much longer we can survive.”

“Your humor grew tiresome after the first minute we met.” RC’s Papa says.

“You _loved_ my jokes, best audience I’ve ever had.”

“I was _unconscious_.”

“I woke up sleeping _beauty_ with my wit.” She winks.

“Perhaps I wanted that _irksome_ buzzing to _end_.” He pushes her head teasingly.

“Buzz, buzz, buzz.” She taps his arm.

“Gideon is my boyfriend!” RC shouts.

“Yeah, we know.” Meg says.

“You, you _knew_?”

“Yes,” His Papa sounds annoyed that this is what his time is being wasted for.

“Oh.” He feels like a deflated balloon.

“Was there something else? You are not pregnant, are you? Because I am too young to be a grandmother.”

“Mother!”

“So, what was it you wanted to tell us?”

“Mother.”

“Oh, well. If we’re revealing things, I finally graduated to a new yoga position and I won a five dollar scratch off. Gideon, what’s your news?”

“I won the student election and I’m president of the physics society.”

“This is so,” RC shakes his head.

“I went an entire afternoon without wanting to kill someone.” RC’s Papa says, he sounds rather proud and somber.

“Oh, that’s good! Because, you know, you’re addicted to that murder thing.”

“Oh, I said without _wanting_ to, I still killed a few humans.”

RC curses his parents.

“This was supposed to be my big my moment! Why do you always do this! You suck!” RC stomps his way out of the room, Gideon follows.

“Something I said?” Meg asks Erik.


	17. Canada and Condtioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three friends go to Canada, sing songs and come to a chilling realization about their ties to a certain Masked Singer.

**2011** **NYC**

Nadir is babysitting RC for the weekend, which he happily volunteered to do so, because there is some bullshit fancy art thing that is going to last the entire weekend, which would have meant that Nadir would have had to babysit all the Frenchies (sans Meg, who was out of town with Christine) while they get **superhumanly** high.

So, course he jumped at the chance to take care of kiddo. They get along well. RC is low maintenance. He does not eat, sleep, and he will mostly listen to orders given him to by elders. He keeps to himself, practices his flute, writes in his journal, and sketches.

RC is the type to **allow** you to engage with him, he does not otherwise care about social niceties. He does not have the time for that. He has one friend and that is more than enough for him.

Nadir has just finished preparing a simple meal for himself and sat himself down on the sofa, ready to watch the big game he has recorded from earlier.

Last time he had seen RC, he was in the spare bed room practicing his flute. He is quite active with school. He’s in band, he does theatre, he’s in the art club, and the choir teacher keeps stalking him to try out.

_“I don’t sing for you.”_

Unlike his Papa, RC has no interest in using his vocal instrument. He hates ventriloquism, he only sings for fun, and alone. He loves his flute and that is as far he will go with music, thanks.

“ _You have an incredible voice, Reza-Charles,” the choir teacher says, "why do you want to waste it? Squander it?”_

_“My voice is **dangerous**.”_

_“Your voice is—”_

_“I **play** the **flute**.”_

_He glared at his choir teacher, his golden eyes burning intense heat and hatred._

His choir teacher left him alone after that.

Nadir felt the eyes of someone watching him, he looked behind the sofa, and it was RC. He looked like he wanted to approach but is waiting for permission.

“Something wrong, little one?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want to join me?”

He runs forward and sits on the sofa.

“What’s up?” Nadir asks kindly. He really wants to watch the game, but he can pause it. Power of the recorded.

“Uncle Raoul likes Christine.” He says slowly, like he is choosing words very purposefully.

“Yes.”

“Uncle Charles isn’t with anyone.”

“That’s technically true, yes.”

“Uncle Jules,” RC is having difficulty with this,

“He falls in love each week.” Nadir says.

“He likes Papa.”

Ah. Nadir thinks he knows where this could be going.

“What makes you think that, little one?”

“I saw them in bed together.”

Ah.

“Well, er, yes. Papa and Uncle Jules do, as you say, **like** each other.”

“But Papa likes Mama.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, sometimes people like more than one person.”

“Uncle Jules is a boy.”

“Yes. Sometimes you can like both, boys and girls. Uncle Jules and your Papa, for example, like both, boys and girls.”

“Does Mama?”

“No. She only likes your Papa.”

“Do you?”

“I only liked my wife.”

“It’s okay to like both?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Did I blow your mind?”

“Adults are weird.” RC leans back and slumps in the sofa.

“Hear, hear.”

* * *

**Present**

Gideon and RC are chilling at the café near the police station. RC is on break for lunch and Gideon has a free day. They were having a very nice lunch together, when Sorelli shows up.

“Hello.” She sits down next to RC.

“Sorelli, if you’re here, who’s guarding the gates of hell for Erik?”

Gideon spits out his drink. Both RC and Sorelli turn and glare at him.

“Sorry,” He mumbles.

“Aren’t you looking spiffy today.” She taps his nose and then lets her finger slide down to his chest, he grabs her wrist and removes it from his body.

“I think you’re confusing me with someone else. I think I see the problem and it is a common mistake among the rabble. I’m sitting down, but there is at least five inches of height difference and you know, this gorgeous face.” RC is 6’2 to his father’s 6’7.

“I don’t think so, you’re exactly who I want to see right now, baby.”

“I’m on a date. With my boyfriend.” He gestures to Gideon, who waves.

“That’s so cute.” She tries to touch RC again, but he is not having it.

“I’m **gay**.” He slaps her hands away. Unlike Erik, he hates her. Simple as that.

“Oh, sweetie.” She pinches his cheek.

“Okay, let’s try this another way, I’m **not** pansexual. You physically make me ill, and I want to staple garlic and the crucifix to your head.”

“More time for that later.” She touches his face, he slaps her hand away.

“I’m **Reza Charles. Erik** is who you want, and the both of you can go back to hell.”

“RC,” Gideon starts to say,

“He knows where we stand while he’s with **her**.”

“That’s why I am here. I thought there is something you should know about that.” She picks at the food on Gideon’s plate.

“The day I care about anything you have to say, is the day I put a shotgun in my mouth and pull the trigger.” He grabs Gideon’s plate from her.

“Sounds like my kind of foreplay.” She winks and rubs his leg and moves her hand towards his inner thigh.

“Fork off!” He grabs her hand and stands up; the table shakes and grabs Gideon as he storms off.

She shrugs and continues to pick at the food on the plates.

\--

* * *

**Canada, A hotel**

Raoul, Charles, and Meg are in the process of checking in. They packed lightly and Raoul and Charles are splitting the cost of the room. The agent behind the desk is super friendly and it is oddly making Charles angry.

“And just so you know, this weekend we have a family discount. Your husband and—”

Meg giggles and Charles and Raoul stare at each for a minute. They shrug. Charles slaps Raoul’s behind. Meg pretends to be annoyed and groans and rolls her eyes at the agent, who smiles apologetically. 

“I told you this hotel would be worth it, babe.” Charles kisses Raoul's cheek.

“ _Daddy_ , not in public.” Meg moans like the teenage she looks. The front desk agent smiles and hands them their key and brochures.

“All of the information about our family activities and the associated discounts are included in this information packet. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to call! Enjoy your stay!"

” Race you to the elevator, Papa!” Meg picks up her bag and runs for it. Charles and Raoul gather their things.

“I’m clearly, “Papa,” in this situation,” Charles says.

“Don’t think so.”

\--

* * *

The room is grand, a two-bedroom suite. Meg drops her bag off into her chosen room and meets back with the boys, who are still arguing over who is “Daddy,”

“You have dainty fingers. You wear the ring.” Charles says, he lights up a cig.

“I do not have dainty fingers,” Raoul frowns.

“These hands work.” Charles holds up his hands.

“You’re an architect. You draw and yell at people.”

“I go to the work site and you know, do the manual labor that goes into building my vision. What do you do? Drink wine and supervise your servants doing everything.”

“The real test is putting on the ring,” Meg says. Raoul takes the ring out of the box and tries to slide it onto Charles’s finger. It does not fit. Charles takes the ring.

“With this, I do thee wed for the weekend benefits.” He slides it on Raoul’s finger, it fits. Raoul curses and Charles laughs, and does a dance of triumph.

“Oh, Papa, and Daddy. This is so beautiful. I am all beside myself. Can I have my allowance now?” She holds out her hand.

“Get a job.” They both say.

“Ugh, you suck.”

“You’re grounded.” Charles says.

“I hate you! You never let me do anything!” She stomps her foot. They glare each other very intensely before they break out into hysterics.

“Ooh,” Meg is reading the brochure,” they have a karaoke bar! I love them!”

“Erik said that you told him, and I quote, “I rather sit on a pike then ever be caught alive or otherwise in a karaoke bar,” Charles says, eyeing her.

“Oh, yeah. With **him**! No, no. I would never want to do that. Not, I mean. Come on! Would you want to **sing** with **him**? No. Not with,” Meg changes her voice to sound like Erik, it’s not a great impression,” Mr. My-Voice-Is-The-Most-Dangerous-Weapon-This-World-Will-Ever-Know, _maniacal laughter_!”

“That was a fantastic Erik.” Raoul says flatly.

“Come on, lets get our sing on!” She pulls of them along and out the door.

\--

* * *

“Oooh, Raoul **you** have to do, “World Burn,” but make it your own. Change up the lyrics, be fun!”

Meg sets up the song and hands Raoul the mic. He is not happy about this, but he wants to have a good weekend and to forgot, at least for a minute about Christine.

The songs on . . and then this happens:

“ . . _Erik time to watch your back, Erik time to turn and cough, because you took me down, but you didn’t finish me off! My name Is Raoul de Chagny and in case you’re keeping score, Erik may have won the battle, but I will win the war for, I wanna watch his world burn, I brought the gasoline. I want to make his world burn, and you can quote this. I will watch his world burn; I got the gasoline! I’m going to watch his world burn!”_

Meg and Charles enjoy the updated lyrics. When the song was done, he bows, drops the mic and leaves the stage.

“I both loved and hated every minute of that.” He finds his drink and imbibes happily. Meg pokes Charles.

“You’re up, Papa.”

Charles steps up to the stage, picks up the mic and scrolls through the songs. He finds one.

“I’m going to need help with this one, oh husband and baby girl.” Raoul and Meg run up to the stage

Charles turns to Raoul, with a profoundly serious look of love, he usually reserves for Meg, and begins:

 _“You are my fire_ , “ Raoul mutters, ‘sweet Jesus,” _the one desire, believe me when I say, I want it that way,”_ Charles reaches out and touches Raoul’s lips with his fingers.

 _“No,”_ Raoul sings, and lowers the mic, not wanting any part of this. Meg takes the mic from him and goes all in,

 _“But we are two worlds apart_ ,” she moves madly, exaggerates the movements, and does the hand singing shake twist thing diva do _,” can’t reach to your heart when you say, I want it that way,_ ” she slaps Charles in the chest with the back her hand while she sings, he takes the mic from her.

Raoul glares and avoids them during the chorus. He sighs and takes the mic and dramatically turns to face them and sings:

“ _Am I your fire, your one desire,”_ he points to Charles _,” yes I know it’s too late, but I want it that way.”_

Charles moves to Raoul, but he changes tactics, he kisses Meg, it lasts about ten seconds, before he turns to Raoul gives him a quick peck on the lips as well. Charles, Meg, and Raoul line up together, and put their arms around each other’s shoulders and continue the song like this.

As the song ends, they end up laughing and having to support each other as they leave the stage.

“Best bar ever.” Meg, Charles, and Raoul cheers and throw back their drinks.

“You’re up. Eurydice.” Charles says. She flinches but she goes back to the stage, solo. She scrolls through songs and begins.

 _“_ _This is a decision that I know full well I made, I remind myself as I'm walking up to your gate, and through the wire diamonds I can see your shape . . . “_

_“ . . . Cause I don't want to fall in love with you again,  
I'm so afraid I'm capable of it. And after time I can't accept, you're still the song on my breath. You're not easy to forget. . .”_

_“ . . I'm doing okay 'till your arm brushes mine and then I panic._   
_I thought I figured it out, but I'm taken aback.”_

“ . . _Your back's against a concrete wall, your body buzzing on the intercom, the intercom, the intercom, the intercom. We woke the neighbors, it's no wonder they hate us, on every single floor.”_

Meg drops the mic and runs off the stage and out of the bar.

“Three guesses who that song was about.” Charles bangs his head against the surface of the table.

They eventually find Meg sitting on the ground, hugging her knees with head face down. They can tell she’s been crying. The men are hesitant at first but they join her on opposite ends. She says nothing at first. They both lean into her and hold onto her.

“You were right, Raoul. You can’t turn it off.” She’s crying and she doesn’t want to face them, or the world.

“No. You can’t.” He sighs.

“The woman at the front desk, she uses the same perfume as Sorelli. I know that scent. He does not think I know about her. I know what my perfume smells like, I know what Christine wears. Christine is brand loyalty. Do you want to borrow one my dresses? It’s fused with her. I’m pretty sure he fucked her in our closet a few times.” She laughs bitterly.

“I didn’t know about that.” Charles hits his head against the well.

“Our group is pretty _incestuous_.” Raoul exhales.

“The three of us haven’t fucked each other. Yay.” Meg says sarcastically.

“We could just stay here, forever. Distance you know. It will **hurt** , but we won’t have to see them again. This is goodbye, this is the end.” Raoul fumbles for a cigarette.

“I have a theory.”Meg says

“Is it bunnies?” Charles smiles cheekily.

“It’s about a Broadway dancing demon!” Raoul pipes in

“Really?” Meg shakes her head.

“Nyeeh, something isn’t right.” Charles taps his chin.

“I think we’re **conditioned**.” Meg says. Charles eyes brighten.

“I think, you may be on to something.”

“It’s not enough to just be around Him and **hear** Him. I think He activity did something to control our behaviors. To control us. Enslave us. Maybe a word, or action, could be something so subtle,” she snaps her fingers, clicks her tongue,” or maybe something else. We wouldn’t **think** about.”

“Something we’d think was just a mannerism. Or a quirk, like, a clicking pen, or fingers drumming. . .”

“Along a counter, or a surface.” Raoul and Charles, Meg say together, they sound so far away.

“He does that a lot, doesn’t he?” Charles says, the others nod and murmur.

“Words.” Raoul says.

“It could be his voice **and** the fingers drumming.” Meg taps the ground with her fingers.

“Shit.” They curse collectively.

The three of them are stunned speechless.

“What if it’s **not** just Him. Not something _He_ says _,_ but something one of us could say and we’d still react to it in His favor?” Meg thinks she's on to something.

“Like **what**?” Charles asks.

“Raoul, when you are with Christine, she’s happy right?” Meg turns her attention to him.

“I’d like to think so.” He nods.

“No, seriously **think**. She **chose** you. You were together for a long time before she left you for Erik the first time.” Meg is definitely on to something.

“Yeah.” He says.

“ **Think** , really **think**. What happened? Did she receive a letter? Did she hear a song on the radio?” Meg is holding onto her head, trying to pour all her intelligence into overdrive.

“I asked her to marry me.” He says quietly.

“And then she left. The first time she showed up at our house. Then it was over again months later. She was with you, and again happy right?” Meg asks.

“Yes.” He drawls.

“How many times have you asked or talked about marriage?” Meg's theory is forming.

“You really think marrying me is a trigger?” He frowns.

“Could be!” Meg snaps her fingers, getting excited.

“She could be conditioned to be the scared runaway bride. Shacking up and living out years together and ever, you have her for all your forever. Marriage? **He** gets her.”

“So, when she comes back to me, I don’t say the word marriage then.”

“It’s one theory.”

“Okay, fine. Next time she comes back, no marriage talk. We’ll move to Sweden and live forever there.”

“You don’t have to leave us, you just have need to be careful.”

“Okay, now we have a theory on Christine. What’s yours, you think?”

“Mine?” Meg feigns confusion and innocence.

“You break up, you leave and carry on. You don’t chase him, you let him be, but the next time we see you, you’re back like you two have been married happily for 80 years.” Charles says.

“140. Off and on, if we’re being accurate.”

“Still creeped out you were sixteen.” Charles suppresses a shudder.

“You were **what**?!” Raoul is scandalized. He snaps his head to face her, outraged.

“Ssssh. I am really sixteen, for 140 years now. Don’t tell anyone.” Meg pats Raoul's shoulder,

“That’s not good!” Raoul is pale.

“Raoul.” Meg says gently.

“I’m angry.” He's features become harsh.

“He didn’t know, Raoul.”

“What did he think you were?!”

“Eighteen.”

Raoul sighs.

“The funny thing is Erik **hates** pedophiles, so the fact he had sex with someone underage will probably make his head explode.” Charles is amused.

“Can I be there for that?” Raoul says, Meg shakes her head.

“ **Everyone** is awkwardly aged compared to him.”

“Okay clever clogs, back to you. What do you think your trigger conditioner is?” Charles asks.

“Mine?”

“Meg.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Meg turns away.

“Meg.” Charles is not backing down.

“You know how he says he owns us all the time?” They nod and groan.

“I think when it comes to me, it’s true.”

“You signed a contract that said, I am your property?” Raoul asks.

“ _I’ve walked this world alone for so long, I think what I was looking for was **you**. I **need** you_. _I am not asking simply for your hand, that’s a stupid human gesture and means nothing outside a misguided formality, an empty poetic notion that sounds pretty but means **nothing**. I **want** you. I **will have** **you**. **All** of you. Body, mind, soul, whatever you want to call it, **mine**_.” Meg says in her best Erik voice.

“And what did he do?” Charles asked.

“He gave me something, to put me to sleep. He said it would be easier if I were unconscious. He needed to take something from me, to **consume** something and if I were awake, it would be incredibly painful, and I might die before it was complete.”

“He **ate** a piece of you?” Charles and Raoul are equal parts horrified and disgusted,

Meg shakes her head.

“I don’t know if he was being literal or melodramatic. I never know with him.”

“And you didn’t ask?” Raoul feels sick.

“I was so overcome with everything in that moment. I was all he saw, all he wanted was me. I never had that kind of attention before.”

“But he may have eaten your soul.” Charles is trying wrap his head around that one.

“I don’t know if it was literal.” Meg shrugs

“You had to be unconscious.” Raoul points out.

“He’s very dramatic, you know.” Anyway, it hurts. **Physically** hurts when I’m away from him too long. I don’t know if it’s the same for him.” Meg says.

“Does it hurt now?” Charles frowns, he taps her shoulder.

“It does, but if I drink or don’t think about it, it’s manageable.” She smiles weakly.

“Then what the fuck does he want with Christine!?” Raoul grabs his head and cries out.

“I think we should call it a night. Everything hurts and I’m dying.”

* * *

Christine opens her phone, closes it, and then looks at it. She checks her messages, voice box. Nothing new, nothing from him. It feels strange, she left Raoul without a second thought at the time, but as time passes, she feels unsure. She remembers their years together. The stories she would play out with him as a child. He jumped into the sea to get a scarf for a girl he has never met.

_“Where is your red scarf, my good woman! After all, I did jump into the ocean to give it back to you!”_

She does not remember where the scarf ended up all those years ago, but she remembers, while visiting Sweden not long after they were together for the first time, he bought her one.

_“Now don’t go losing this one, I’m not the swimmer I once was.”_

He did not ask much from her. He did not force her into the role of nobility wife, or make her change who she was, she wanted to sing, and he let her, supported her. If he had to, he would drop everything to take her to an audition, he watched every performance. He supported her while she was in Sweden trying to find her place in the theatre, and then back in Paris.

Then 1932, Meg sent her letter, she had bought a **circus**! Of all strange things for her to do. Meg thought it would be fun, something to make all her own.

She and Erik had settled in New York, he had some of his Operas produced and he was becoming quite famous in the art and theatre scene. He was the new favorite. It helped that his masked face added a dark sexual sordid mystery. His productions always sold out, and people wanted more.

While Erik was doing that, Meg decided to stand on her own. She pooled money together with Charles and they bought a circus. He helped design and build sets, stages, and the like. He was her business partner and principal architect

Meg and Charles hired an independent composer, found dancers who were just starting out, hired the most interesting workers. The best part of that experience was the lack of the **Phantom’s** dark presence, or rather, **Erik**. At least in the beginning.

Erik kept his own thing going among the elite of New York. They found him to be eccentric, unique and were not deterred by his violence and abrasive and often abusive temperament. He was simply too talented, too charming, too mysterious and fun, not to forgive his faults.

Erik was not around much, as he was always touring different cities and countries. When Erik **did** visit it would be to spend time with Meg. He did not come to Christine. He did not seek her out **.** His love for Christine seemed to have been forgotten **.**

He moved on **,** but during the brief moments that Christine saw him, she remembered their time together at the Opera Populaire. His intense desire, the dark sinister lust. How she belonged **_with_** him and **_to_** him, he helped her find her love for life and music, and that is what she thought, what she felt she needed again from him. Life had not turned out like the fairy tale she thought it would be. Princess gets her Prince and happily ever, right?

Wrong.

She is still struggling, having to work just as hard, if not harder than she had to do before. Sure, when she got the part, her productions would last a few months, and then it was onto the next project, but the Daae name was not legend, not like how, how her Angel of Music had promised.

Christine wanted that back. Her Angel of Music making her dreams come true. She came across Erik and Meg one night, they were walking around the sets, he told her everything she did wrong, she’d tease him, he’d bite back, and then they would kiss a little, he’d sing her some song and they would walk together in the night and that was it. That was enough. Christine felt that pull, that dark magic.

He used to sing **her** those songs, the music of the night, pleading, demanding she stay within the shadows for him, with him, forget about the sun, it will betray you! She remembers it all.

There was a moment of weakness on Christine’s end. She betrayed the two people she loved the most, and at the time she could not care less. He made her feel good during their passions, and that is all that mattered during their time together.

She felt guilt after their trysts. She manipulated him, let him believe that she loved him, that she had made a terrible mistake.

_“It’s you. It was always you.”_

_She grabbed onto him and kissed him until she could not breathe, and her body was exhausted by her passions._

Erik would be gone, come back, only to be gone again, so there was no suspicion of anything. He was the master of the night and being discrete.

It sickened Christine and made her incredibly jealous, how he would spend time with her and then go back to Meg, and stay with **her** the night. He always spent the night in Meg’s bed.

_“Her bed is superior to this moss insect infested mattress **insult**. I bought that bed **specifically** for us.”_

_“Then buy one for us!” Christine demanded._

Instead of answering her with words, he grabbed her roughly, flipped her over and they made love. No. They never made love. It was fucking. That is how she must think of it as, to remember it as. It was **not** love, not on Christine's end.

After months of this she could not take the guilt. She felt as if she had been starting to go mad. She would cry for hours on her own, she could not sing, eat. Looking at Meg made her physically ill.

_“You’ve lost weight, you won’t leave your room, and my boys say you refuse food and won’t see anyone. What happened to you? Is someone threatening you? Tell me what is wrong, so I can help you. I need you to be okay, so I can be okay. You are my person. I do not think I can do this without you, now that you’re back in my life. I love you.”_

She cried into Meg arms for the rest of the night, she did not speak, just wept until her body shut down. Meg had her carried to back to her room, back to her bed. When she woke up, Meg left her a glass of water, some soup and bread, with a note.

_“I love you, Eurydice.”_

Christine screamed and threw the food onto the floor. She could not take it anymore. She could not be selfish. She had to grow up, be the big girl now. Opera Populaire was over. She had to move on. No more ghosts, no more using people.

She wanted a life with Raoul, she was certain of that, so she made the decision to leave New York and go back to Europe and try again.

So she ended it with Erik, her once beloved Angel of Music. She wrote him a letter, and then demanded Raoul that they leave in the dark of night, begging pleading that he not ask why, and he did not. They went to the docks, and she did not look back or think of Erik for the longest time.

Christine checks her phone again, no new messages. She sighs. The less and less time she spends with Raoul the more she feels she made a huge mistake; a mistake she is not sure she can fix this time.

Not this time. Meg moved out and they haven’t spoken in weeks, RC, Erik’s son, hates her with a deep passion, and when he stops by to collect things he needs, he refuses to acknowledge her, and she knows he stopped speaking to Erik.

This is not what she wanted, to be a home wrecker. She meant what she said to Raoul, she wanted happily ever after.

“Look at what’ve you done Christine; you ruined your best friend’s home.” Christine hugs her chest. She never meant to do this.

“Why do I always fall to you?”

She wants to cry, to die. Love is not supposed to hurt like this, to poison, to corrupt.

* * *

RC knows he is being followed and he does not have the time for this. He stops, steps left into the dark alley and waits. Sorelli follows and he hits her with a trashcan over. She stumbles backwards and he waits for her to recover. This is getting beyond now, she never bothered him before.

“Are you _still_ confused? Did you hit your head; I mean before I did? I am _Reza Charles_ , I’m nineteen, gay, and I find you _repugnant_.” He crosses his arms, taps his foot, and mentally prepares for whatever awful thing that is bound to come from those lips.

“You hate Christine. I hate Christine. You want your Mommy and Daddy to make up right? That’s the story of every kid from a broken home.”

“My home is _bent_ , not broken. I am not going to enter a deal with you. There’s nothing I could possibly gain from a partnership with you. You're Erik's favorite sex pet, begone succubus, I have no need of you. Hey, I know, why don't you relive **Cerberus** of his duties, he could use the break..” He waves her off.

"Cute." She pouts her lips.

RC smirks.

“I love Charles, Charles loves your Mother; your Mother is falling for him. I have watched them together. They are _trying_. He promised he would wait for her to be ready for their first time, and since they are on a romantic getaway for two weeks in Canada, I'd say it's only a matter of time before you get a new Daddy."

RC puts his hand up, stopping her.

“Mother is in Canada for a work thing, nice try. She would never lie to me.”

“A work thing?” Sorelli turns her head to the side.

“You mean, this work thing?” She holds up her phone and plays him a video.

A thirty second video of Meg and Charles sharing a kiss, they are in a place with bad lighting.

“So, what work thing would this entail for her to kiss my boyfriend?”

RC says nothing.

"What do you want?"

"We have the same goals. It just depends on where you stand with certain moral constraints."

"Murder." He scoffs.

"I mean, yes that is a favorable option."

"Let me think about it."

"Midnight. Tick Tock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: World Burn, Means Girls, but Raoul's version  
> Don't want to fall, the narrative  
> I want it that way, BSB
> 
> Thinking about writing a companion story using that circus story arc, yes, no? Hm,. still mulling it over


	18. Meg and Nadir  Spend The Day, an Intermission

“I’m screwed up because I had to watch my son die, you’re screwed up because you’re a **dick**.”

“Your mother.”

Nadir shakes his head. Meg shrugs.

“Okay, try it again.”

“The only reason anyone would have sex with you is the humanitarian points.”

“Better. I am just not feeling your anger. Like really get mean.”

“Erik ruined my life and he needs to know the damage he caused me. I’m going to punch the stupid bitch, in his stupid bitch mask.”

“Reaching,”

“The only thing that comforts me is knowing that you’ll never be happy.”

“Good. Keeping that going.”

“I lied when I said I loved you, I just needed to keep you around because my cable was out.”

“Oooh, felt that.”

“Q’s are the elbows of letters.”

“Huh”

““I parent the shit out of Jules. Wear that shirt, don’t blow Erik, and this is baklava.”

“Ha!”

“I had all the turns, now it’s yours.”

Meg sits up straighter, shoulder back.

“My computer thinks I’m gay.”

“Oh?”

“Gorgeous eyes shine suicide.”

“Erm.”

“When I kiss you, it will make the sun do down.”

“Oh, really now?”

“I loved you and I should have said it, but tell me, what has it ever meant?”

“Damn.”

“You kill me, build me up, but just to watch me break.”

“Think this is getting real.”

“I can't compete with all your damn ideas. This isn't working out for you or me. The truth is I'm too tired to play pretend. This is goodbye, this is the end”

“Are you leaving?”

“I remember the look in your eyes when I told you that this was goodbye. You were begging me not here tonight, not now. We are looking up at the same night sky. We keep pretending the sun will not rise. We will be together for one more night Somewhere, somehow.”

Nadir felt sudden inspiration and he sang:

“And even though I know how very far a part we are, It helps to think we might be wishin' on the same bright star, and when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby, It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.”

They both jump to their feet and:

“Somewhere out there, if love can see us through  
Then we'll be together somewhere out there  
Out where dreams come true,”

They laugh and hug.

“We should hang out more like this.” Nadir says.

“He won’t like that. He wants us kept in our separate pens.”

“He really thinks like that doesn’t he?”

She nods.

“Separate cell. Gotta keep us from forming a resistance, it’s what the French are best at.”

“I’m not French.”

“You’re his moral compass and a police officer. You’re dangerouser.”

“I think when I saw what happened with Jules, is when I knew in my heart, my bones, what he is capable of. How he really thinks of us.”

“He took **everything** away from him.” Meg can’t face Nadir’s eyes.

“I kept thinking; he wouldn’t really **kill** his children. And then they died.”

“They were ill. Sudden, quick. God’s mercy.”

They say nothing for a while.

“We’re the ones with the most freedom, but why do I feel we’re the most trapped? Enslaved?”

“We’re **loved** the most.”

“If that’s love, it comes at much too high a cost.”

“Oh!”

“Had to.”

They snap, snap fingers.

“Everyone time he mentions Christine to me, I think of, ‘Hellfire,’ Nadir says.

“Whenever I think of getting married to Erik, I think of Ludo’s, “The Horror of our love,” as our wedding song." Meg shudders.

“I don’t know that one.”

“Look it up and then get back to me.”

Nadir and Meg's phone both go off.

"I totally forgot I was in the middle of an investigation, Hadley is going to kill me!" He gathers his things

"This is from Christine. She washed her cat and wants me to come over. I don't get it? She doesn't own a cat. Cats are dumb. Why is she," she turns colors.

"That wasn't for you." Nadir makes a face and his eyes shrink and presses his lips.  
  
They both scrunch up their faces.

"I'm going to get more alcohol."

"I **dare** you to show up at Christine's with cat nip and kitty litter."

Meg's eyes light up.

"You're welcome!" he says as Meg runs from the table, inspired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference notes  
> Horror of our love, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kQ-0bBkMIY  
> Hellfire, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NP-RsRGzVo or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsWqMzHN5EQ or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3mees5Qoo4
> 
> last night, MCS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_202kA51DM
> 
> too many friends placebo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKLONjkiL1c  
> summer shudder afi: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vEVabFtMNow
> 
> You're the worst references: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HL2r_9U2Lec , https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUt4Q-McANI
> 
> other songs, straylight run: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uApFrPcHdXY
> 
> somewhere out there: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jzlSeFLr7A
> 
> Yellowcard: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9S5LA_c6WT8
> 
> Kill, JImmy eat world, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hHEALSbBtk
> 
> This is just for random fun: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R66hQJnyK98


	19. In Cold Light of the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg tries to forget about the boy
> 
> Song of the Chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jti8v47e7m4
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7NwPuGEP14
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQq98YPV8yk

* * *

* * *

It is starts off with a brush of the skin, then it is a litter harder, not too much pressure but, more firm, more noticeable of an irritant. Then you start to use the nails, not fingers skin, the nails scratch, scratch at a slow pace, it does not turn into a rhythm until the ants start to march inside the veins.

The skin does not break yet, but it is starting to get irritated, and turns red, and then it is no longer so much of itch that needs to be scratched but a mindless uncontrollable thing

Meg looks at her hand, it is red, she has scratch marks on the curved area of her index finger and thumb. The skin has some white dead skin dust residue, she tries to stop, gain control of herself.

She gets out of bed, goes to her suitcase, and starts throwing things behind her, next to her, in front of her, trying to find something, anything to distract her mind.

_Of all the times not to pack a book._

She turns the suitcase over, nothing of interest there. She goes to the dresser, the desk, opens drawers, and tries to find even a bible or a binder of information on the hotel, or a history of the city that they are in.

She twists her hair around and around her fingers, until it gets knotted, and she pulls it out, she stops for a second, and then again, twists hair around, and around, pulls. She plays with the hair between her fingers, gets disgusted and drops it.

She twists and pulls more hair, out, plays with, rolls it into a ball, pulls it a part, gets disturbed and lets the hair go. She finds a brush, tries to get the remaining knots out, smooth her hair, but it just pulls, rips more hair out, she throws the brush against the wall.

She goes over to her phone, turns on a playlist and tries to listen to the words, get lost into a rhythm. She sets a sheet out on the ground and lies down, closes her eyes, and tries to focus her mind on the lyrics, the song, the words, and what they could mean.

She tries to fight back the tears, but they are mean and feel like cannon balls of heat and hate, they trickle down her cheeks and tickle. She wipes her cheeks and remembers the music.

 _Placebo’s Too Many Friends_ is the first song. She keeps her eyes closed and tries to just listen. The music, not memories, or anything that could remind her of—

She sits up, changes the song, and lies back down to sleep.

 _Way Down to Hadestown_ is next, she does not even realize it at first. She moves her feet to the song, and even sings along. Her heart fills up, her stomach feels funny.

 _“Everyone says you are_ **_Satan_** _, which is just_ **false** _. You’re obviously_ **_Hades_ ** _and that makes me_ **_Persephone_** _,"_

Meg grabs her head; she turns over and tries to forget. She will not cry, she bites her hand until she bleeds, she tries to ignore the taste, but it becomes too much, she flips over and is back on her back, and she cuffs her ears, and kicks her feet, she suppresses her urge to scream.

The memories do not let up and her face and body are being crushed by love and misery.

_I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want this, I don’t want him, I want him._

Meg face burns like acid has been thrown into her face. She’s haunted and tortured by her own mind.

The next song is, _Wait for me (Reprise), Hadestown_.

 _“False again! She’s a_ ** _siren_** _, her song always leads you back to her and ruin._ ** _I’m_ **_Persephone, you’re_ ** _my_ **_Hades, and_ ** _I will make you crawl_ ** _if you think otherwise” She taps his chest with her index finger._

_Erik grabs her and pushes her against the wall,_

Meg sits up and tries to block the memories, she crawls over to the phone, and scrolls through until she finds what she thinks could be a safe bet.

 _Don’t Want to Fall, The Narrative_ , Meg screams, and she throws her phone against the wall and it shatters. She hugs her knees and starts to rock back and forth, the memories keep coming, the levy is broken, the flood drowns the town, and there will be no survivors

“Forget about the boy, forget about the boy, forget about the boy,” She is trying to be strong. She does not need a man to make her happy, she can be happy on her own.

She tries to think of puppies, and flowers, and sunflowers are yellow, and golden like the summer, and his eyes sharpen, brighten loudly, it makes the sun jealous, his eyes are Apollo and Helios, when Christine walks into the room. 

She tries to remember, that it’ll be okay, because she has friends who are his friends she lost her friends, her mother threw her out of the house after she told him what Erik did and, her teeth are grinding together. 

Her favorite café near Opera Populaire sells the most delicious baguettes she’s ever had, Erik does not eat anything she brings him, he feeds the bread to his cat instead, and he plays a song on his violin for her while the damn cat hisses at Meg every time he moves too close to Meg. 

Meg turns her head to the left and spins her whole body, trying to block the memories that keep pouring in. She hops in place, hoping to scramble the brain and the signal.

He smells like winter after the snow or light rain showers, wet leaves and trees that are so old, that they must have heard Erik’s songs since the beginning as saplings. He liked the cactus she gave to him when they were in California, and they made so many puns _._

_“You’re technicolor here.” He pulls her close and then they take a step, and he raises her arms up above in arc and she and him walk around in the dance._

_They ignore the chaos of the fire behind them, the heat and intensity make the music and dancing all that much sweeter. Burning wood, melted plastic, a sweet perfume when it is mixed with him._

“Stop!”

Meg digs her nails into her palm, trying to forget these memories, these random snapshots, that mean nothing, yet for some reason she cannot forget. She feels like her heart is on fire and frozen, trapped in an ice ball and she will never feel happiness or the sun again. His eyes glow golden even in the dark. . .

“Shut up!”

Meg stands up again, and paces, paces, she tries to think of her favorite modern dancers, choreographers, the time she passed Bob Fosse on the street, and she felt they had a secret connection.

_“My name’s Meg!” Meg calls out her name, out to him, but he has already run down the steps to the subway station, Meg stands there, half hoping he will return to her, shake her hand, make her a dancer for his next big show._

_“Do you think Fosse would ever dance with me?” She asks Erik, she leans into the piano, and lays her head down on folded arms. He does not look up from his work._

_He scoffs and shakes his head. Meg frowns, not the reaction she had hoped for._

_"_ _Might want to educate yourself on modern dancing, the 1800s ballet, will only take you so far,” he says, he never pauses composing his song for Christine._

“We don’t have any happy memories.” She tries to use this as strength, they have no happy memories, so then it is okay, she can get through this, live through this

 _“_ _You shine like you’re made of moonlight, are you really Hecate? Circe?”_

_They are in bed together, and the window is open, the moonlight and its precious beams dance around the space above Meg, it’s like they dance for, and only for her._

_He looks at her as if it’s the first time he has ever seen her. He’s held captive by her, and Meg feels like this is all in her mind, another dream for Eponine._

_He hops out of bed and Meg turns away, she looks up and she plays with the moonbeams. The bed shifts and Meg can see him out of the corner of her eye._

_He has his sketchbook and starts to draw her image. Meg turns over to face him, curious about what he is doing._

_**“Don’t move**_ _.”_

_Meg stays still, she slowly falls asleep, as he captures her image in a mad panic manic inspiration, the world outside her face does not exist. His cat jumps on the bed, and he throws her off after she tries to claw at his work._

_When she woke up the next morning, he left the finished portrait on his pillow. She has never seen herself through the eyes of another. She did not recognize herself in his drawing._

_“Is it mine to keep?” She asks, she is holding the portrait. He takes it back_

_“No.”_

_The damn cat hisses and swipes at her, Meg takes the hint and goes back to the bed and gathers her things._

_“She doesn’t care for Christine, but I think she **hates** you.”_

_“Dogs are better,” Meg shrugs._

Meg turns on the tap for the bath. She checks the temperature until she is satisfied and waits. She pouts, her eyes are burning, and little things keep trigging her memory movies.

_Erik tries to teach Meg scales, he doesn’t want to **use** her or **help** with Meg’s career, he considers it a repayment for taking care of him when he was in that healing coma, but Meg grows too bored, she cannot stand still, she has to move. _

_It drives him into a madness that he does not understand. His blood boils, and he wants to set things on fire, and yet, he doesn’t want to hurt her, scare or threaten Meg the way he would anyone else, including precious Christine, his angel, his muse, and his mask for his projects, his vessel for his masterpieces._

_And yet this silly little thing that is pink and yellow, can do these maddening things!_

_“What are you doing?”_

_He has not met anyone quite like her. Christine **obeys** , she sits still if he says she fidgets too much, Christine **fears** him and he **loves** it, **wants, craves it,** it **drives** him mad with **pleasure** , but Meg is doing the opposite and he does not **completely** _ _hate_ _it._

 _**He likes it more. Wants** _ _it, **needs** it like oxygen and music._

 __ _He sets her off on purpose. She is his new favorite illicit substance. Far better than anything the khanum, or Nadir ever gave or his new love, morphine, and her cousins._

_She challenges him in odd ways._

_“Stop fucking moving and **listen** to me. You will be **still**. You are here so I can teach you the basics, which includes scales. You’re not even on any note or—”_

_Meg boops his masked face. He does not know how to respond that. Meg takes his silence as an opening._

_“You **say** that you want me to stop and be still, but what you’re **really** saying is to teach you how to **get down**.”_

_She smiles and she begins **her** tutoring._

_“Now get into this position, your feet should look like this, and you need to lean just a bit, for the knees, and thank the maker this isn’t carpet, because tap a taping tap dancing is the **worst** on soft surfaces. **Trust me.”**_

_She looks over to Erik and waits. Erik does none of those things. Instead he leans against the organ, crosses his arms, and Meg can feel his glare behind his pretty over the top full-face mask. She loves that she has glitter residue on her hand, it shines in the light._

_“And, here, we, go,” she pauses at each word, she raises her right arm, in a curve and her over the navel. She waits for dramatic anticipation. She giggles at his increasing anger._

_She makes up a dance, she dances around his organ, to his library back to the music room, the cat follows her, curious. Meg taps her nose; the cat hisses and launches itself towards her face._

_She ducks, Erik catches her, she calms down and she jumps back to her favorite perch._

_“I think we’ll just keep you as the dancer.”_

_Meg bows and continued to practice her dance for the upcoming production._

Meg disrobes and slides into the bath. She sinks herself and holds her breath if she can, she submerges, wipes her face and fixing her. She looks around. She does the same thing, staying under just a little long each time.

_“When you get angry your nose twitches.” Meg smiles and she bites her fingernails. Meg knows that he does not have such a feature, and yet._

_He ignores her._

_“See! There! Did it again!” She nods, closing her eyes. She stands tall and confidant._

_“You are beyond vexing.”_

_“Ha!” She points at his mask._

_He grabs her and starts to undress Meg roughly while she laughs madly._

_“Like a twitchy rabbit! What are you like!”_

_He pushes her backwards with more force than necessary, but she is too busy giggling to care, and advances, his lust overrides his reason and rationale._

_“It’s stupid how much I love you,” she says when she regains some composure. He ignores her, he is entirely focused on what he wants to **do and with** her._

Meg gasps as she comes up from the water. She gets out of the tub as fast as she can, but she is wet, and some water spilled over, and she slips on the tile landing on her stomach.

The pain is a welcome distraction and she tries to recover, to crawl back to bed.

 _“_ _Why don’t you hate Christine?”_

_Meg is on the sofa reading a favorite book, Erik leans against the mantelpiece by the fire._

_“Because I don’t.” She shrugs._

_“That’s not an answer, that’s evasion.”_

_“I responded to your question, which makes it an answer.”_

_“I want to know **why**.”_

_“I just told you, I responded to you—” She doesn’t see him move, he grabs her book, throws it off to the side and fills the space it left, he grabs her chin._

_“ **Answer properly**.”_

_“I don’t have a reason to hate her.”_

_“She’s **fucking** me.”_

_“My condolences for her.”_

_He applies crushing pressure, he refuses to damage her physically, but she still needs to be trained._

_She looks into his burning eyes._

_“You’re manipulating a young, damaged, confused woman. You have purposely misrepresented yourself to her, fed her lies, built your relationship on a misunderstanding, and lies. She **trusted** you, you **betrayed** her, and continue to **betray** and **abuse** her. She falls to you because you have her **conditioned** and **trained** to come back to you.”_

_She takes a moment, and there is less pressure._

_“I don’t hate her. She is your **victim**. Your slave, your pet, whatever you want to call it **. I will never hate her**. I want to **help** her. You’re not asking me the question you want answered, so I gave you back what you gave me,”_

_She wants to say something else, she parts lips and closes them, she gets brave._

_“The village thought you were a monster because they were scared ignorant, hateful people, that wasn’t your fault, **you were their victim,** and your mother’s to a degree,”_

_He is taken aback and lets her continue._

_“Your deformity doesn’t make you a monster, it makes you **interesting**. You must work your ass off to get around societal norms on beauty and just prejudice. You have your music and art on your side, to show your true beauty and how handsome your soul is, plus your masks are totes **hot**.”_

_He tilts his head to the side, agreeing and she smiles flirtatious at him._

_“Your environment didn’t help you much, your mother, the priest, **everything** that happened in Persia. You survived and lived through horrible things and wonderful things.”_

_He rests his head against hers. He releases her chin and holds onto her hands._

_"You are a monster because of what you **do**. You make an **active** choice to use someone, to hurt someone for your **pleasure**. You get **sexual pleasure** from **murder** , from torturing others, and I know you come up with new ways to do these things every day, with your vocal sorcery, the things you craft. You believe all of us, me, Nadir, Christine, Jules, Charles, Raoul and Sorelli, are honestly **yours** , **we belong to you** , We are your slaves, your puppets, to do with as you choose, and I know **nothing** will change that.”_

_She needs another moment and continues._

_“You’ve also done many good things. You were great with Nadir and Reza, you stayed with Nadir when he needed someone the most, you took care of him when he went mad, you never left his side despite how much the khanum tempted you with toys and human pets. You made sure he was okay and when you left Persia, you had someone to protect him from the shahs. You did that because you **cared** about your **friend**. Not because you wanted to be a good owner.”_

_Meg keeps it going_

_“You stayed with Charles as he watched his wife and children die. You held his hand when he visited their graves and you let him visit them when they were dying.”_

_“You have a lot of good in you, but no, it doesn’t make up for all the evil that you do, and that’s not your question either is it?”_

_He shakes his head and holds her hands tighter._

_“You make me smile.”_

_He says nothing,_

_“And your mask fetish is fekking **hot**.” He lifts his head up, she boops his mask._

_“I’ll never understand you.”_

_“I’m not complicated.” She shrugs._

_He kisses her hands through his mask._


	20. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine lives, regrets, and wants to make it better, eventually.

Meg is all bruised. She looks over at the clock on the nightstand, 2am. The bath helped make her body feel clean, but she does not feel much better in the aspects that matter.

Whenever she is sick Erik prepares her these terrible tasting elixirs, and they do make things better, no matter the illness, or what the damage had been, she could use one right now.

She massages her knee.

After RC was born, Erik had acted odd for several weeks, he would watch her sleep, he never watches her sleep, he’s usually out and about, trying to find something or someone to do.

_“I have no need for sleep or to watch it. That is akin to watching paint dry,”_

But for several weeks, he was there. He would not leave her alone. She was all that mattered. No mentions of Christine, not even in his fucked-up foreplay.

He loves when she gets injured when its dance related, dance is the only thing she is better than him at, it’s her natural gift. She does not need to train as hard as others, her body can just do it. If she falls, slips up, he smiles, he laughs and says they are back to an even playing field.

It’s 2AM. Sometimes, when it was just them, they would go on walks, see what they could get up to, what chaos to stir.

The sign outside her window is glowing yellow, it reminds her of his eyes, albeit his are pettier, but the glow, the hue, and it brings her a false sense of warmth as the light touches her body.

Meg turns over and tries to think of different things. She tries to count the scratches and scuffs of the walls, the tiles in the bathroom, what did they remind her of, why is it called tile, and not sorkin, or something.

She snuck out of her room to be with him in the beginning. Her mother nailed her window shut, but Mag did not need the window, she knew how to unlock the door, and she has light feather feet. She would leave the house and go to him; her mother never knew.

Meg flips over to her back and stares up, maybe the celling with come down on her. Erik is not here to revive her, so it would be the end. She could use an end.

* * *

“ _Your mother know you’re here?” Erik asks, he knows the answer, he’s leaning against the organ, his cat jumps onto his shoulder._

_Meg takes off her coat, she is only she’s’ only her small clothes, her underwear. She is fifteen, she told him her birthday was tomorrow, and it is, but not the one he thinks it is._

_He is amused and walks forward and plays with her hair._

_“I thought you were a lady.” He is amused, hungry._

_“Is that what you want?” She tries to sound coy, sexy, aloof. Not interested or desperate for his touch, like a stupid little nobody._

_He plays the with her bra strap and remains silent. She shivers._

_“Are you cold?”_

_“Can you keep me warm?”_

_“Is this what you really want?”_

_She nods, she tries to stand taller, she fights back the strange and strong urge to cry and to run. He’s the only man who’s ever paid attention to her, thought she was something, he played songs for her, he didn’t ask why._

_He says nothing. He runs his fingertips up and down her exposed arm, and he traces her collar bone, her neck, chin, he pauses around her lips._

_“Once I have you, you’re **mine**. Are you sure you want to do this? That you understand?”_

_She nods._

**_“I won’t let you go._ ** _You won’t be able to get away, break free from me, **not even in death.”** His eyes are glowing, burning. He’s doing all he can not to just tear into her in that moment, but he can deny himself of pleasures, he’s done it before._

_The Spider’s prey willing walks into his web._

* * *

Meg grabs her head and tries to forget; these memories just will not leave her be! She cannot think straight. Meg gets up and goes around the room, trying to find inspiration for something.

_She arches her back. Everything is so heightened. She can feel her skin, the air, blood, warm, wonderful, hot, pulsating. Her body tingles like pins and needles are stabbing her, swimming in veins like broken shrapnel._

_Erik waited until her “eighteenth birthday,” to have her. The bed quakes from his fierce movements. He told her will not be gentle, it was not in him, and he kept true to that, but she did not care._

_She was taken to a new level of existence, she could taste the moonlight, saw stars, and felt the power of a thousand quasars inside her._

Meg slaps her face several times and screams. She sits up suddenly and turns to the side of the bed and vomits. She cannot stop it, her body is spent, sweaty, and in pain. She can lie back down. Her face is covered with bile, remnants of vomit, and spit.

She cannot move, her head is so heavy, the air is oppressive, she feels like she is pushed, pushed, pushed down into the mattress by a hateful and violent force. Her limbs feel like they are weighted down by cinderblocks.

She has never felt like this before, and she does not know what it means.

_“Do you truly wish to be with me forever?”_

_She nods._

_“If that’s what you want,” he pulls her hair back behind her ears, and kisses her eyes._

_“I can make it happen; you have to trust me.” He kisses her neck, and the outline of her jawline and he brushes against her lips._

_“Close your eyes, you’ll have to go sleep. I promise it is better for you this way. The pain will be agony, beyond any measure of human threshold.”_

_“I trust you.”_

_“I know,” He smirks darkly before he kisses her, he brings his hand to her face and she holds onto his hands._

_“I have to take something from you,” he says after they parted for air. His head pressed into her forehead, and he is breathless._

_“Take it.”_

_“ **Sleep**.” He kisses her, and she only finds darkness._

“Go away, go away, go away, I don’t want it, I don’t **want** it!” Meg tries to get out of bed, but a waterfall of heat cascades down from her nose to her toes.

She turns over to the side and the vomit starts again, she cannot stop, not even when it is just dry heaving, her throat, lungs, and her insides are at war with each other.

She dares to look at what she has purged. She screams. Blood. Blood. She wipes her lips with shaking hands, blood.

She gets out of bed, ignores the blood pool she just stepped on and goes into the bathroom. She checks herself in the mirror. Her face is pale, her eyes are swollen, dark, not her usually emerald green. Her face looks sunken in like she is a corpse.

Maggots crawl out from her eyes and mouth, Meg punches the mirror, again and again in horror, she lowers herself to the floor in a fetal position and cries.

“Meg.”

She cuffs her hears, she cannot hear this, she will not hear this. She something grabs, pulls her out from under the sink, she holds herself, trying to protect herself, she is shaking and hot and does not know what to do.

“Meg, I’m taking you to the hospital,”

* * *

**How the other half lives**

The ceiling fan is not part of the original design of the bedroom. The room is naturally cool as it is, but Christine would not relent when the designs were being finalized.

Meg did not care so much for the design of the bedroom when it came to those kinds of details, she would read novels about Greek palaces and those were all marble, and statues with fountains and so much damn art.

Grand spaces, like you wanted to keep the love of your life always at twenty paces, but damn you had a fine room!

From her other books, she sought inspiration that had reds, maroons, velvets covered the walls, grand heavy curtains that did not loft, but they did their best to keep the sun and moon’s light from dancing inside and to make sure that every piece of furniture tied the room to color in some. A celling fan did not matter.

“We’re naturally cold people, who needs the fan?” She gave a thumbs up to his designs before she carried on with a random ballet of the mind that she made up.

Meg always dances, she did it when she made their (her meals, she just set place settings for RC and Erik, even though she knew they would not eat, but there is always that one time)

It is subtle at first. She turns on her phone to a playlist that matches the feel of the meal she is cooking. If it is tacos, its hoppy beats, calypso, steel drums, salsa. _Jump the Line,_ on repeat.

She shakes her hips, she does a strange back and fourth with her feet, hop right, hop left, take a step back, move forward, go right, backward, left, up, and repeat, and that’s just when she’s cutting the vegetables, or greasing the pans.

She spins before she uses the oven, she puts the food in, sets the timer, turns the music on louder and now she gets **down**.

She sets Ju _mp the Line_ on repeat and she follows the story of the lyrics. She dances in circles, she dances around the room, spins, moves, tries to do her best to keep up the senora that the singer adores.

As her excitement increases, she dances all over and around the grand kitchen and dining room

She starts this strange run, spin, run, step forward, spin, backward step, but she does it so fast, it blends together, there is no moment of pause, she is fluid, she is energy, she is flow and she can pull you in with her gravitational pull.

RC loves Taco Tuesday and he does his best to catch up with her, she grabs his hands as she makes a pass, and he does his best.

Once it gets to the hoist those skirts, she, shake shakes, and twists so her skirt flows and spins like it is a wash cycle, or hurricane Marguerite

She knows Erik hates when she does, so she dances around him, and lip syncs perfectly to the song and always, finds him at, “ _girl’s name is senora, I tell you friends I adore her, and when she dances, oh brother, she’s a hurricane in kinds of weather_ ,” he pushes her away harshly, which is what she wants, because that gives her the moment for her next choreography for the dance.

When Charles is over, and Erik is not blind to Charles’s blatant and tawdry and garish flirtations towards Meg, he will line dance with her, grab her waist, and if you didn’t know better, you’d mistake the happy couple for Charles and Meg.

“They dance well together; they should be partners.” Christine says Raoul when they were over for a Taco Tuesday.

“They do have a good flow, like they can read each other’s minds.”

“They’d make a good pair.”

They watch their friends in awe, Erik overhears this as he returns from the wine cellar with the wine he had been asked to collect. He is, to the least, not amused.

Erik **obliterated** the wine bottle that he held. The glass turns to **dust** , and he wipes his suite off, and his human collection of toys are reminded how much fear they have for him all over again.

“I forget how strong I am.” He says this flatly. He searches the sea of his prized collection and nods to Nadir before he leaves for his library.

Nadir spends the rest of night with Erik, trying to bring him back down from his heightened state, and has no such luck, hence missing the meal and staying over the night, to keep watch over his best friend and puppet master.

Erik looks at the side of the bed that used to be Meg’s, but now is home to Christine.

They were different in many aspects, like what they kept close at night.

Christine’s side of the bed is cluttered with candy wrappers, some jewelry, and a glass of water.

Meg kept books when she was here. Mountains of books, they often had slides. He would trip on them sometimes.

Meg took everything that she had collected with Erik and threw it out all. She left nothing behind, not even her scent. She made sure she brought Charles and that Erik was not there.

That is something he had not expected, that was not in the script, a new addition to the play. He did not like it. She’s never actually left before. Christine is brought over, and then taken home, but now, Meg is gone, but he has his muse.

_It’ll be worth it when it’s complete._

“She still loves you.” Christine says, and Erik forgot that she was there. Something catches his eye and grabs her hand.

“She gave it to me, said it was mine.”

* * *

_Megs pulls the tab off her coke can, grabs Erik’s hand and puts it on his finger and giggles._

_“You have very dainty fingers. I **can’t** even with you.” She drinks her coke, and watches him, she is waiting for him to say something, and he instead looks at his hand._

_“Is that how you propose?” He is serious._

_Meg chokes on her drink and half spays it on him. He will have to clean his mask, and his tuxedo tonight. He reaches into his pocket for his handkerchief and dabs on the delicate material of his “face.” This is what happens when you agree to not wear the hood attachment, because she wants to see all your, “glitter addled face”_

_Meg laughs even more and points at him, she jumps up and is all beside herself._

_“You, you, oh my god, you are so **pretentious** , you’re the **reason** we **have** the word! That **is** your **real name** , is it not? Did you start the flower on the pocket? Invent the top hat? Why do some tuxedos have those stupid split tales and short waist? What's the point?"_

_“I often forget you have the disposition of a small soft-headed child.” He folds his handkerchief and places it back in his pocket._

_“Is that best you can come up with? I’m hardly slighted by such a feeble endeavor to deride me.” She crosses her arms, proud like._

_“You can **say** the words, but do you **know** what they **mean**?” Meg always jokes with him about his advanced vernacular _ _and eloquence._

_“I have a pocket thesaurus too, inamorato.” She winks and holds up her small book._

_“I will never fear for a paucity of sagacity.” He says dryly._

_“Sagacity, paucity,” Meg flips through the pages, Erik leaves her to it._

_He finds her later, on the sofa, looking through two different dictionaries. He grabs her, and slides something on her finger._

_“It looks like a washer, you know, one of those erm, yeah.”_

_“Perennially eloquent, my clever clogs.”_

_“So, **are** we engaged now?”_

* * *

“Erik? This is what you want right?”

“I have something to take care of.”

He takes a long walk around the city. He stopped caring about seen when he was out, as long he was dressed, as Meg put it, “ _like the **most** **French** Theatric Production of an Walking Eyes Wide Shut Opera Masquerade Party. Obviously, you’re the host, so you gotta be **on,”**_ she gave him two thumbs up, and her smile, tongue poking through the teeth.

_“You make me smile.”_

He is not used to making people smile and he knows she meant it.

He passes a subway entrance he considers taking a ride to anywhere.

Bob Fosse walked by her once years ago, she called out to him after he left, she jumped up and down like a fool.

_“Just so we are clear, he’s the only man I’d ever leave you for. I wouldn’t even question it.”_

Erik **_despises_** Bob Fosse.

To test the theory Meg had on his overly dramatic dress, so he could go outside without the fear of the looks, Meg went with him and they spent the day in Central Park.

The looks he received were not fear or disgust, but amusement, people were willing pay to take pictures of him, they enjoyed his violence, thought it was part of some show they had stumbled in on.

* * *

_“You think that’s great, he can make your dog **sing** , Erik, do it,” Meg elbows him until he does, he’s not a dance monkey, and he’ll come up with an amusing way to get back at her later, but he did comply._

_“Oh, wow, how’d you do that!?”_

_Meg chose to be his manager and “voice,”_

_“You pay him ten,” he **growls** ,” forty bucks, he will do whatever we have on the menu: makes object sing, he’ll hypnotize you, do you have your glass/mirror? Okay, maybe not **that** one, but anyway he’ll,”_

_More people gathered around him, taking money from idiots, that is something he will always love._

_They came home with almost three hundred dollars, Meg needs more practice if she is going to be his manager and, “voice,”_

_“I told you! Keep wearing you Eyes Wide Shut and carnival masquerade full on face, you don’t deserve to even see my **chin** , masks, you can be amongst them, nothing bad will happen!”_

_He nods, he hates that she is right, but agrees and listens to her happy tangents._

_“I found this **complete** ying/yang mask. One side is white, the other is black. It looks like **you**.”_

_She shows him the image on her phone. He takes the phone from her and scrolls through images and orders a few that catch his eyes._

_“This is going to be good for you. You are not **dead,** my dear Hades, you need to be in sun sometimes. If Persephone can survive the underground, you can survive the above ground.”_

* * *

He stops and looks at Central Park. He could go there, chill, walk around, Shake Shack it like a tourist.

“Erik!”

He turns, RC looks perturbed and he hesitates before he runs over.

“ _A lot of teens call their parents by their given names, it’s a temporary form of rebellion. He’ll get over it.” Meg is always Mother, and now Erik went from Papa, to Erik._

_“He calls you “Mother” still,”_

_“He’s not in competition with me or fears me. He’s **challenging** your **alpha position.** , boop his nose, he’ll learn his place and go back to being the omega or whatever.”_

_She smiles and then goes back to her book._

“Stop sending Sorelli at me.” He glares. Erik still finds it amusing that **his** eyes glare back at him. RC’s most **intimidating** feature is his **cutest** for Erik.

“I am not.”

“She came at me today. I don’t want your human sex toys.”

“Want to try that again?”

RC just glares. Erik sighs, he takes Meg’s advice, he grabs RC’s nose, he lifts him off the ground.

“What was that?” He holds his hand out by his ear, mocking RC.

“’Orrry.”

Erik sets him back on the ground. RC goes off in the opposite direction as fast he can.

He loses track of time, alcohol doesn’t seem to have an effect today so he goes back to Christine, and tries to find other ways to feel something, and for a few minutes it works, he forgets about the girl, and remembers why Christine is there, and he feels better.

Sorelli sees herself into his home, she kicks open the bedroom door and is unfazed and not embarrassed by their present state.

"We have a problem."

Christine covers herself with the sheets.

"What kind of problem?"

Erik reaches over and puts his mask back on.

"Tell me, do you know where your Meg is?"

“Charles, they’re roommates.”

“And how long to think it will last as, _roommates_.”

He shakes his head, he knows her, it may feel different this time, but he knows.

“She doesn’t love him.”

“Willing to make a wager?”

“Is that something you really want to do?”

“Her life. I bet her life, that she marries him before you finish.” She nods at Christine.

“You’re still amusing to me, so I’ll let that pass, see yourself out. Leave RC alone, he’s **not** yours.”

He turns his attention back to Christine.

“But he looks so fun.”

“This is your only one,” he coaxes Christine to come back to him and put the blanket aside.

“I promise, not to hurt him.” She hums a song and leaves.

When it was time for the usual meet up for drinks, and the group was noticeably lighter.

“Chuck, Meg, and Raoul went to Canada. ‘A healing holiday,’ Think they are going to some broken hearts, single convention. I don’t blame them.” Nadir shrugs and drinks his beer.

“Canada?” 

Nadir nods

“She’s moving on, it’s a good thing. I am surprised you have not destroyed her yet. Being in love isn’t the same as being good for each other.”

“I’m happy for Raoul.” Christine says. She is usually quiet when she joins.

Erik resist the urge to—he sighs. He doesn’t even hate Raoul, he gave up those feelings so long ago.

”Christine, the last time you actually spent time drinking with us, was when you first came to New York,” Jules says.

“Yeah, when Meg ran that Circus with Charles. They did a good job with it.”

“Then it _mysteriously_ burned down.”

Jules and Nadir try to nonchalantly look at Erik.

“I just read something. An insulting piece of, I can’t even say literature, it was trite and “written” by a child without education.”

“So, you burn your girl’s Circus?”

“That was an accident. I bought her a house to make up for it.”

“You **bought** an **_apartment building_** and moved into a **_penthouse_**.”

“Same difference.”

Christine stands up abruptly, she turns to Erik, she is shaken

“I have to use the ladies.” She hurries off.

* * *

_**1933** _

“You think we should franchise?” Meg asks as she and Charles conduct their daily business.

“I think we could, we don’t abuse animals or people, our shows are entertaining, we use talented people, have our own composer to craft original work and Operetta’s. We’re different, we’re fun, we have you as the Ringmaster, it’s scandalous and the women love it.”

“Christine won’t stay forever. Have you seen her lately? She looks so sad, like she’s dying. I keep trying to talk to her.”

“You’re not her mother, I’ll send for a doctor, anyway, I have the music that our boy sent us to go over,”

Charles and Meg peer over the music and notes.

“You know what the best part of this Circus is?”

“Erik isn’t involved.”

“Erik isn’t **fucking** involved! He’d probably name the circus something stupid, a pun on Phantom, and like can you imagine, what stupid pseudonym he would come up with?”

“Phantasma”

“Phanta C.”

“Ghastly Productions.”

“Something Something Don Juan.”

“Sultana’s Best Bet.”

“The Lair.”

“Mirror Magic”

“Lord Sasha.”

“What are you doing?” Erik enters their office, he does not usually visit, he’s too busy with his own productions, his actual art, his operas.

“Nothing, nothing.” Charles turns his attentions back to the music and notes.

“Don’t you have a premiere in Chicago tonight?”

“I have a few hours to kill.” He comes behind Meg and plays with her hair; she grabs his hand.

“I just got it done, I can’t do hair play today. I know what you can do, you can terrorize our workers, they were finishing some maintenance work. Feel free to let them know what they did wrong. You usually like doing that, see how many people you can make cry or wet themselves.”

“You’re so good to me.”

She turns around to face him, a stern look on her face, she points at him,

“No murder,” he growls, “no more than **two**. I need a staff that consists more than one.”

He leans in and kisses her neck, and then her throat. He stands up straight, runs his fingers though her precious hair because of her protests and goes to find the reason he came.

Christine is in her room alone, she suggested that Erik introduce Raoul to the elite, so he could find something to do, to invest in, and he has. He found some cabaret theatre off Broadway, and it has taken all his attentions.

The Circus is Meg’s baby and she is using all her talent, little money, blood, sweat tears, to nurture it.

So really, they have themselves to blame for this. Christine does not wait to drop her silk kimono that he bought for her during one of his travels. He has been to so many countries for his Operas and symphonies, his work finally being recognized, acknowledged, appreciated, the way it always should have been.

He does not need her body, or her face anymore, now he just wants to use it for himself.

The door shuts behind them with a soft click

They find solace with each for a few hours and then it is back to the real world. Christine, washes, changes, and prepares for the night. Erik says goodbye to Meg and he is on the next train and he won’t be back for weeks.

* * *

Christine wipes the tears from her eyes. She tries to use the makeup techniques the girls taught her, but she can never quite get it to look right, she either uses to much rouge on her cheeks, or paints her eyebrows too thickly. Meg and Sorelli were the ones who could get Christine to look like a person when they performed.

“You really suck at this,” Meg half dances over to her friend, she takes the brush from Christine, dabs off the excess and begins to apply the makeup.

“Thank you. I have not had much of a chance to talk to you. How have you been. You are not feeling overstressed? Mistress Ringmaster?”

“I haven’t felt this happy in years. I can see, think, and feel. After I had that, after I recovered from that night, I never felt truly **here**. But now, doing all of this, it’s something I created, on my own! I didn’t have to invoke Erik's name, I built this.”

Meg switches out the makeup, tilts Christine’s head. And turns her head, to find the perfect curves, and accents.

“You’re different, in a good way. You are not in his shadow either. You seem, lighter, happier.”

“You know what keeps a marriage happy and long lasting? Distance and separation! That is why Persephone and Hades work so well together, see you for a few months, and then it is au revoir, mari!”

“You don’t miss Erik?”

“I do, but we have separate lives that are together. His dreams are coming true, and I found this. I thought I needed to dance to take over the world, but I think this is where I am meant to be, what I’m meant to do. He’s doing what he is meant to do. I’m not going to make him stick around because I get lonely at night. I have books for that. I have a hot date with Mr. Rochester tonight, baby.”

“Jane Eyre is one of my favorites.”

Christine waits for Meg to find a new brush.

“You are suited for this.”

“I hope you decide to be more than just a special of the month, you know?”

Christine blanches and her insides set fire like a hot poker until it is suddenly cold as ice.

“I’d love to have you stay. You inspire the other singers, you have traveled, you have performed Opera in several countries, and now you’re here in the good ol’ NYC.”

“Ah. Yes. I do not know. I’m not sure if Raoul would want to stay here forever.”

“Raoul would do anything for you, if it made you happy.”

“Yes. I suppose he would. He has. He’s given up so much for me.” Christine looks at herself in the mirror.

“You got a gooder fella. Have you asked Erik about maybe being in one of his productions? I mean, he did train you for that.”

Meg digs through the makeup and pulls out, puts back several objects, before finding what she wants. When she looks back up to Christine she is in tears.

“Christine?”

She wipes her eyes and stands up; she pushes past Meg and leaves the room in a hurry.

Christine misses her performance that night and doesn’t return until after midnight. Raoul send’s a message that he had to miss her performance because of a small fire that took place in the kitchens, and some of his staff were injured so he’s attending to them until they are in better hands.

He sent her a dozen of her favorite flowers and picture he had an artist sketch, it’s her on stage, full costume, in a motion. The artist is a nobody right now, but he was able to capture Christine’s beauty without knowing her.

_“I talked about you so much, he just knew what you looked like, and how you are.”_

Christine hides the note. She cannot see it, face it. She looks at herself in the mirror and spits. She screams in rage and turns around and Erik grabs her.

She forgets about the boy and the note, he pulls towards the bed and despite how she really feels, she waters the lie.

“I love you,” and she presses into him and the world is fire. He usually leaves after to be with Meg, but he stays,

“I missed this; your scent.” He grabs her har with his fingers and breathes her in.

“We always find each other in the end,” Christine wants to run away.

“They rebuilt the Opera Populaire, they want one of my productions performed for their grand re-opening.”

“I love it.”

“I need a lead soprano.”

“How’s Carlotta.”

He pulls her slightly, she moans, and she moves closer to him, he wraps himself around her and she wants to feel love. She feels something else.

“Come with me.”

“Take Meg.”

“I don’t want her with me for this.”

“Meg is your wife.”

“We’re not really married.”

“I can’t leave Raoul.”

“I think you can. You’re not with him now.” He kisses her jawline and he moves his hands down her body responds with sexual electricity.

“When,” she gasps, when she can finally form words.

“Tomorrow, midnight.” He pulls as close as he can and holds onto her. Christine lifts her head and looks into those beautiful golden eyes that shine love into her.

“Yes,” She rests against him, she closes her eyes and hates herself more than she is ever hated anyone.

Erik has to leave to take care of things in the morning before they leave for Paris, and Christine has to settle her own affairs. She promises to meet him at the café at midnight.

Christine stares at the piece of paper, it’s been hours, and she hasn’t been able to write down what she’s been trying to say, been screaming inside her mind for months.

**_Erik,_ **

**_I have not been completely honest with you and I do not know how else to tell you. These last few months have been some of the hardest. I am using you. I thought I made a mistake at first, when I saw you again, I thought that I did love you, that we could live out years together, I’d be your Eurydice to your Orpheus and we would take over the world, bring music, hope and love to the world._ **

**_I do not love you. Not in the way that you want me to. The way you look at me, makes me feel good. It is lust that we have. Blood that screams into our hearts, but it’s nothing that’s meant to last. I have not forgotten all that you have done to me, so our time together is also a form of punishment. Revenge._ **

**_I say the words, click my tongue, and it’s you not me, that obeys their master._ **

**_I can make you do anything for me if I say I’m yours. You neglected someone who honestly loves and worships you because I told you to. You never gave second thought. Having control over you is better than any sexual act we’ve performed or any song we sang together. I can bring you to your knees, and worship me, do my bidding. I ruined your relationship with Meg just see if I could and I hate myself for enjoying it._ **

**_You scare me as much as you excite me. I do not want to have a family with you. I would hate the child I think, and in a way, I know Meg was blessed when Sorelli took those matters in her hands, sparing Meg of the pain. You are a cancer. You will ruin us, kill us, but we have no choice to be bound to you._ **

**_I do not hate you, I promised you and my myself that I would never hate you, but I do not love you. Not in the way you want or need me to. I enjoy your body, and I think that is probably what I missed the most._ **

**_I love Raoul. I have always loved him. I’m not going to Paris with you._ **

**_We’re no good for each other, Erik. You were never my Angel and I was never yours._ **

**_I think we need time to pass, before we can come together again, perhaps time will heal these wounds and we can start again as friends._ **

**_Take care of yourself,_ **

**_Christine_ **

Christine leaves the note where she knows he will find it. She picks up her suitcase and Raoul meets her outside, like she asked him to, like he said he would.

“Here we are then,” He smiles. Christine grabs him, kisses him as if it’s the last time.

“I’ve never loved you so much.” She gabs onto him and they leave the Circus.

-

* * *

Meg hates hospitals. She could do a lifetime without having to be in one. Raoul and Charles brought her here after they saw the blood and heard her.

The doctors took lots of blood and other samples from her and all she wants to do is die in peace, in sleep.

Charles never left her side; he holds her hand and he goes over their musical they intend to produce. Meg’s medicine has her loopy, so she does not really know what is happening.

“We have the results,” Charles looks over to the doctor.

“Bleeding ulcers. She is rather young to have something like this. What would cause her stress?”

“You don’t know her—”

Erik walks in the room, the doctor and Charles watch him. The Doctor, because of the strange man’s attire that includes a dramatic over the top mask that conceals his face.

“ ** _Leave_**.”

He is not going to say it twice. The Doctor, and Charles follows his orders, and they close the door behind him.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes her hand.

“You haunt my dreams of mountains sunk below the sea.”

“I spoke the words but never gave a thought of thought of they could mean.”

“Is this the end for us? Is this goodbye? Are you going to marry her?”

He kisses her hand.

“Look at your hand,” he lets it go. Meg looks at her hand, and on her ring finger, is the—

“The washer thing? Is this really how you’re going to—” He kisses her, not with intense passion, but chaste, he’s gentle and he pulls away.

“Yes.”

“You’re damn lucky Bob Fosse is dead, Erik because you know he would be all over this the second he knew you—” He kisses her again, but not as chaste, but still somewhat tenderly. He starts to pull away, but Meg grabs him for more.

Charles watches from the hall, he looks to Raoul before leaving.

"I don't understand, you were so _**on** _Christine. This doesn't make sense. Are you screwing with me? Is this another mind game?"

He looks at her deeply, and Meg grabs both of his hands, he has, 'this is heavy,' face.

"If I tell you something, I need you to promise you won't leave me."

"How bad is it?"

"I need you to promise you won't leave me."

"Is it about RC?"

He shakes his head.

"No, nothing like that."

She sighs with some relief.

"Okay, I promise. What is it?"

He lowers his head, grabs onto her hands like he's going to die, if he lets go.

"Well, it's a tragic song, and it's not an easy one to sing, so I need you to just listen."


	21. Persephone, Lady of Our Aboveground

**1933, Persephone’s Under-Aboveground Circus.**

Meg is sleeping peacefully in her bed. Smoke creeps into her room, through the cracks of the door. A frantic pounding vibrates the door.

She tries to ignore it, the pounding grows more violent, until the door bursts open. There is smoke outside, filling the hallway, Charles runs to Meg’s bed, and grabs her.

“We have to go, now!” He half carries her as he runs out of the room. The entire universe of their dream, their circus is up in flames, the fire spread rapidly, no one had time to warn others, it was run or die.

“What happened? What caused this?” Meg asks as she makes it to higher ground. Meg settles on the ground; Charles checks in on Sorelli.

“What the fuck happened? You didn’t fuck up or experiment with a new drug cocktail? Because I swear babe,” Charles cuts her off with a kiss.

“I didn’t do this.”

“Everything we’ve built, everything is ash.” Meg wants to run back down the hill.

“There has to be something we can salvage, not everything is on fire yet.”

“Meg, I will knock you out to save you, if I have to.”

“This is our dream! It’s on fucking fire, so if there is something, even if it’s small, that we can save—”

“It’s over. It’s done, it’s gone.”

“The captain stays fast with the ship,” Meg stands up, and Charles walks over.

“The Ringmaster doesn’t stay with the burning circus.”

He grabs her arm. Meg tries to free herself. Charles pulls Meg pull into him.

“I spent everything I had! Everything! I put my heart and soul into this, and I am not going to stand here and let it just die!” Meg tries break free, but he only holds onto her tighter.

“There is **_nothing_** you can do.” His voice harsh, his eyes full of sorrow. He is trying not to break down himself.

“Let me **_try_**.”

“If you go out there, you’ll die. I cannot bring you back, and that’s it! Show’s over for Meg Giry. Final curtain call, take your bow, leave the stage of life for eternity.” He’s desperate, he’s trying to keep her still, but she keeps moving.

 ** _“So, what_**.” She says through clenched teeth.

“Let it **_burn_**. _Let it go_.”

Meg hits him. She slaps, punches, scratches him, until she exhausts herself and she collapses into his arms and weeps. Sorelli walks over and sits down next to them. Charles slips an arm around her.

“Christine fucks off with Raoul, and then this shit gets set on fire.”

“I know.”

“What a day.” Sorelli pulls at the grass.

“Yeah.”

“So, when we find out who did this Meg, what are we going to do?”

Meg looks up, her eyes burn not from irritation or sadness, but raw and pure rage, anger, resentment, cold hate.

“ ** _War_**.”

“Your generals await your orders,” Sorelli indicates Charles and herself.

\--

* * *

**2010, NYC, Outside His Family’s Penthouse**

Meg stares at the broken elevator. This is the building’s only elevator, and it’s broken. Somehow the cable broke, and the cart went crashing down. Such an impressive feat. Meg knows only two people who would be able to manipulate that sort of thing.

Meg peers down the shaft.

“Christine? Are you alive?”

“Yes!”

Meg shakes her head; she knows who did this.

“I’ll see if I can find a rope, hang on!”

Meg enters the penthouse and RC is casually reading a book on the sofa. Meg walks over to him, stops in front of him, coughs until he pays her mind.

“Mama.”

“I know that It was you.” She narrows her eyes, hands on hips. Trying so hard to look menacing.

“What was me?” He asks sweetly, feigning confusion. His eyes wide wet with mischief and his voice, perfectly composed.

“The lift. I know you broke it.”

“It’s broken?”

“You know it is.”

“Mama, I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Uh huh.”

“I have, I swear.”

“Really? Swear on my life you didn’t do it.”

RC’s lips tremble, and he hesitates, he opens and closes his mouth.

“It may have been too good of an experiment,” he says slowly.

“An experiment, huh?”

“I wanted to see if it could be done, I honestly had no idea she was in the lift.”

“You didn’t? So, you just decided in that moment, to see if you could break the cable, and Christine being inside was just a crazy random happenstance?”

He nods.

“That was dangerous, melodramatic, and wrong.”

“It’s not wrong, it worked.”

“It’s **_morally_** wrong.”

“Oh.”

“ _You sound just like your father.”_ Meg says exasperated. She wants to strangle the air.

“Thank you.” He goes back to reading, Meg takes the book.

“Not you’re welcome. You will apologize to her, and then to the maintenance crew I have to call, to fix your mess.”

“I’m not compunctious, it would be disingenuous.”

“Whether you feel bad about it or not, you will make amends, or I will tell your father, and you know how much he just loves discipline.”

RC flinches. While his Papa was not abusive towards him by any means, Erik did love, love, love being the scary parent, the one you say, “oh just you wait til___, gets home.”

RC knew that there is no being, no creature, no power in Heaven or Hell or Earth that is more evil or terror inspiring than his father, and he did his best to stay on his good side, but there are times, like now, when it just did not seem possible.

Christine is a sore on his family, and RC wants to get rid of it, so really everything he does against her, is to preserve his family.

“I will do as you ask, Mother.” He forces the words from his tongue and mouth.

“Now.” Meg points to the door.

RC hesitates as a rebellious little hellion. He drops the book and gets off the couch and stomp walks to the door, before slamming it shut behind him.

“Persephone give me strength,” Meg rubs her temple.

\--

* * *

**2015, NYC**

Meg runs through the doors of the embassy and she doesn’t care that one of her heels is broken, or that she’s now drenched with sweat, she runs to the first desk she sees.

“Christine Daae! I’m here for her, I have the passport, and” Meg holds up a hand, she didn’t realize how out of breath she is. She places the passport on the counter.

“Have a seat,” Meg nods and she walks awkwardly because of the broken heel.

Meg waits nearly an hour before she sees her friend. Christine is being escorted towards her by two very officially looking men. They nod at her, before they go back from where they came.

“Christine, I am so sorry! I have no idea how RC did it, I swear to the moon, I will take away all of his devices.”

“It’s good to know some things never change.” Christine smiles.

“How were you treated?”

“They left me alone.”

“Good, again. I am so sorry!”

“It’s endearing if you think about it. He loves you so much, he’s willing to take someone out.”

“Endearing? RC had you arrested as a terrorist threat!”

“We talked before it happened. He wants to keep his family secure.”

“This is not how one goes about it.” Meg shakes her head.

“He’s so much like Erik. He does not think the way you or I do. We must adjust our way of thinking to understand, new rules. You know that.”

“I don’t like the idea of my son being able to arrest people he doesn’t like, because he doesn’t like them! That is a fascist in the making.”

“Erik would do it.”

“It doesn’t make it right!”

“No, but he does this with love.”

“I know, I know. I keep trying to tell him that- “

“He will never understand it the way you want him to. You are his mother, I’m a pariah.”

“I owe you a drink, come on. Let us get this bitter out of our mouths and souls.”

Meg and Christine leave the embassy and chat like friends meeting up for their routine Tuesday.

\--

* * *

**2017, Holding Cell, NYC**

RC is pacing back and forth the holding cell. He is beyond furious. How could he have slipped up so badly? Caught! He was caught! And now they had to go and call his parents, tattle! Like he is a schoolboy and he put some girl’s pigtails in an inkwell.

They could not reach his mother, so that means his father is going to appear and everything will be all that worse.

“Here he is.”

RC steps up to the bars, and waits for his—

“Hello Reza-Charles.” Christine smiles. RC is very confused.

“What?”

“I’m here to bail you out.” She nods to the officer. The doors are opened.

“What?”

He is confused and cannot get his body to move.

“I paid your bail.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I cannot put it more plainly.”

“They called Mother, Father, and you?”

“No. They called your Mother, and Father. I picked up the phone when they called Erik. He was otherwise disposed.”

“You answered his phone?”

She nods.

“It worked out well, don’t you think?”

“Why?”

“I recognized the number, I figured it would be for the best if I was the one who handled this situation. I can think rationally as a third party. Your parents, cannot.”

RC hates this, he wants to scream, curse her, and yet. He does none of those things.

“I never treat you well.”

“I know. If I were you, I’d think I'd hate me too.”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.”

RC looks at his feet. He feels a strange sense of-he clears his head.

“I suppose I should thank you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Mother would say it’s the proper, moral thing to do. So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What did you tell, Father?”

“I said that I needed to pick some things from the store. Female things. He didn’t ask any more questions after that.”

RC nods.

“This is only a temporary reprieve. You will need to appear before court and face consequences, but this gives you a chance to catch your breath before you face the music.”

“Thanks.”

“Just because we are “enemies,” doesn’t mean we can’t be kind or civil. Take care.” Christine smiles before she walks away.

* * *

Christine and Meg haunt each other in different ways. For Meg, it is the fact that no matter what happens between them, He will always love Christine more than Meg. She is the song that is always on his breath, the stars in his eyes, his best works all have her taste.

For Christine, it is more subtle. Meg is always on the peripheral. There will a pile of work inspired by, dedicated to Christine, but mixed into it there will be a note or an old portrait of Meg, and He will put it aside, something that always amuses Christine because that’s how He treats her, always puts Meg aside, saved for later.

Once, Christine found an old piece of parchment, that’s how old the note is, not paper, but parchment, that Christine found on the floor by the organ.

**_Keep this, stupid. It is perfect, she’ll have to marry you_**

Christine recognizes the script to be Meg’s but she’s not sure of what work that’s being referenced, but of course Meg would tell Him to keep something He discarded for Christine.

_“Good work is good work,” Meg says_

Christine can see Meg digging through trash and jumping into fires to secure work she knows that must be kept, that the world **_must_ **know. And that is the problem with Meg,

Meg will always love others more than she loves herself. Meg would apologize for bleeding on your shirt, if you stabbed her, shot her, struck her, because she refuses for her existence to be a source of misery or pain, or an inconvenience no matter the instance.

Christine picked up an old portrait of the younger woman once. It was aged, the edges were folded, some of the lines were smeared, but it’s the most beautiful Meg has ever been, and it kicked Christine in the teeth and kidneys the longer she studied it.

“ _Hecate? Circe?”_

That was the note under her image. She has asked Erik about it, but he simply took it out of her hand and put it aside, saved for later.

That was the inevitable. Meg will pop up again, and again, and He knows He will go back to Her, and Christine knows that they are never meant to last. He does not mean for them to last.

Christine finally figured out what she really meant to Erik. She is the palate cleanser. To keep his romance with Meg fresh, He needs her to be washed away before he can go back to her dish. That is where Christine comes in, and she knows this to be true, because that’s what she uses Erik for, when it comes to Raoul.

Wash away their tastes, so when they came back, it is delicious, and vibrant and _new_. Raoul and Meg should have been destroyed years ago, but their superpower of love and forgiveness keep them safe from their lover’s poison.

Raoul and Meg will walk through the fire unafraid and they will never burn, they will lose everything that they have built up, they will endure, dragons have no power over them, and creatures of darkness fear their light.

_“Why do you stay?” Christine asked Raoul when he returned from Canada._

_“I love you,” he says as if it is the simplest thing and most obvious thing._

_“Why?”_

_“I want to,”_

_He fades off after that, goes into a hidden place, because they both know she is not ready for him yet._

Christine always wondered if Meg and Raoul have ever spent the night together, that would be something, those two-finding solace, and perhaps they were truer soulmates than anyone.

She teased Meg about it once and she responded in her perfect Meg fashion:

_“I like his hair, I’d probably play with it all the time, he’d get so annoyed, it would be our thing, he’d call me kitten, and then I hiss, hiss, me-ouch.” Meg hissed, and then pawed at Christine, she is very animated when she speaks, Meg._

_“I hate cats, and he’d **know** that, he’d take me to cat café on my birthday, I’d sneak off to the bathroom, and sneak out the window, and make faces at him outside, until he noticed I wasn’t with him,” Meg winks and the pulls at her lips and cheeks, crosses her eyes, Christine sprays her drink all over the table, and Meg._

_“But that’s not for this life, and so it goes,” she sighs dramatically, and waves the notion goodbye with her fingertips._

_“Not this life, maybe another time,” Christine says._

_“His hair,” Meg says breathily. Christine swears she can see drool drip from those lips._

_“Meg loves a man with good hair,” Christine smiles, like she figured out a great secret._

_“ **Good beards** , paw, paw, play, play,” Meg paws at the space in front of her, like a cat, for an animal she claims to hate, she has a lot of playful mannerism inspired by them._

_“Is that why Nadir never wants to sit next to you?”_

_“Maybe.” Meg looks up and tries to play innocent and guilty_

Christine found a book that Meg left behind, Erik bought for her, and left a lovely note for her on the inside. Christine wanted to throw it into the fireplace, made several attempts, but she could not let go.

She’s read the book, she has parts of it memorized and she can see the appeal to these old stories, but when all you do is bathe yourself in tragedy, how can you handle the good times?

Meg is prepared for hell, but never for the dances or the picnics, if she has an uneventful day, she has panic attacks. She is convinced she did something wrong, missed something.

_“Sometimes nothing happens,” Christine told her once_

_“No, I missed something, screwed up somewhere,” Meg is near tears_

_“Sometimes, we just have boring days, Meg. Life is not always a tragic opera,” Christine reaches for her friend’s shaking hand,_

_“There’s always something that’s missed, something that could have been done,”_

_“You can’t save the world every day, sometimes we lose, and other times, it’s just Tuesday and you lived. That is the point of life, you just live. You do not need the robot monsters sent by Doctor X to make it interesting or entertaining. You’ll kill yourself if you keep living this way, Meggles.”_

_Meg shakes her head, tears steaming down her face, she refuses to accept the logic. Christine holds until she is asleep._

It does not help matters that traumatic events have led to some of the best developments of Meg’s life.

She almost died bringing her son into the world, if it had been a smooth labor, Meg would have found a reason to complain, she kept the doctor away from someone who needed them, etc.

_“Forget Persephone, you’re **Discord** , because there is no way you’d be able survive true harmony,” Christine tells Meg one evening, while everyone is enjoying dinner._

_“I’m too centered and organized to be chaos.” Meg pouts, the others scoff and laugh at that._

_“You dance like a fool, you never can be still, you never put things away in order,” Says Erik, he would have continued, but Jules cuts him off._

_“You always have the messiest table area, you attack your food like no other,” Jules points with his fork, and sure enough she has bits of food off the plate._

_“You are a human hurricane,” Charles says._

_Christine sighs relief, thankful for the assist._

_“Okay, just tell me how you really feel.” She picks the food up and puts it back on her plate._

Christine shakes her head free of memories and she tries the brave thing of knocking on the door. Meg has been back from Canada for a few days now, and neither have them spoken, and bringing over a book, that clearly means something to her is the perfect excuse to stop by.

When no one answered, Christine started to walk away, but the door opened.

“ _Oh_ , it’s _you_. What’d you want?” RC leans against the door, he does not like her.

“I have a book,” Christine says, she feels foolish for saying it. He has his father’s eyes, but instead of love, they always send her hate.

“Okay, and?” He crosses his arms, and his closing himself off to her. He shakes his head, and she knows he does not want to even with her.

“For your Mama.” Christine holds the book tightly, she can feel sweat on her palms, making holding the book difficult, the cover is plastic, smooth, and she doesn’t want to drop it like a fool, not in front of him.

“Awesome,” he holds out a hand and he is making a point to not look her, not to give her respect or proper attention. His fingers move, telling her to hurry it up.

Such a sharp difference from his father, Erik would only treat her this way if it were a game that lead to something pleasurable.

“I’d like to give it to her,” Christine says, trying to keep her voice steady.

“She’s not here, so either give me the book or come back later.” He moves his hand impatiently.

“Is she going to be home soon?”

“I don’t know, I’m not her keeper, give me the book or don’t, but make up your mind.”

“Here,” Christine hands him the book, he takes it roughly, like it is something offensive, that he would rather throw away, be rid of. He closes the door, without another word to her

And that was it. Christine sighs, she turns around and walks away. Nothing left to do here.

\--

* * *

RC throws the book into the kitchen trashcan as he walks by.

“Who was at the door?” Meg asks, she’s on the sofa reading.

“No one important, they wanted sugar. I gave them directions to the closest Duane Reade.”

“Ah. Why am I reading this book? It is terrible. This woman fears her son, and I think she’s half in love with him.” Meg is tempted to throw the book away.

“Greek tragedy?”

“Modern English one. Okay. Can’t even anymore.” Meg throws the book across the room.

“When I throw books across the room, I get a lecture about proper decorum and the books being sensitive creatures.” RC arches a brow in amusement.

“Yes, but this book is evil, and evil books can be thrown.”

“Is that the rule now?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.”

“How is the internship going?”

“Going. I get to play detective now, instead of just serving coffee.”

“That’s good! Nadir is letting you follow him around then?”

RC nods.

They are silent for a moment.

“You went to Canada with Uncle Charles.”

Meg nods.

“You two have a good time?”

“The start was great. The end, not so much.”

“You’ve known Uncle Charles for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“If you and Erik do not come back together,” RC starts.

“I don’t know and that’s not your business. You are my son, not my peer or friend. I’m not discussing this with you unless it becomes necessary.”

“As your son, I think it’s very necessary when there are videos of you with his tongue in your mouth."

“Excuse me? Don’t talk to me like that.”

“It’s true, so are you going to marry him?”

“I am not marrying Charles and I do not have to answer myself to you. “

“Everything I do is for you and this family and It doesn’t help me you run around—”

“Reza Charles, you will speak to me with a less marital tone of voice and remember, you are my child, and you do not speak to me this way.”

“Someone has to!”

“RC- “

“I feel like I am the only one who gives a damn!” RC storms off into another room. Meg sighs and holds her face with her hands.


	22. Brief Moments With Nadir and RC

RC does not remember the bar, or the drinks. He remembers the emotions, the anger, the hatred, and wanting to punch the world in its face. He likes to think he has control of his emotions, tonight proves otherwise.

The manager had called the cops once it was clear he would not leave without violence, and lucky for RC, the manager had a direct line to certain a Persian officer.

Nadir showed up ten minutes after the phone called ended, he gathered the pitiful young drunkard, apologized profusely, and even left a crisp 20-dollar bill, as if that were enough to assuage the bartender, and manager.

Once they arrive at Nadir’s, he drags the boy into the bathroom, throws him into the shower, turns the handle on towards the coldest cold and steps back.

It takes a moment before the shock subsides and RC realizes he is in the shower, he tries to get out. But Nadir keeps pushing him back.

“I think you need another minute or two,” Nadir says. He is trying to keep his tone and temperament friendly. The angry and frustrated godparent-uncle can come later.

RC shivers in the shower, he rises enough to turn the water off before he settles down. He leans back against the tile and closes his eyes.

“Do you know where you are.” Nadir asks, he squats, so he is level with the boy. The position is not comfortable, and his hips will be fire and fury soon.

“Shower, your place.”

“Who’s place.”

“Uncle.”

“Okay, okay. Good. Question passed. Do you know why you are here?”

“Drunk?”

Nadir chuckles lightly.

“Just a bit, little one.”

“My clothes are heavy. I don’t like it.” He pulls at the sleeves of his shirt. Why he decided he needed to wear long sleeves today is beyond him, they had a record high in heat.

“That tends to happen when fabrics get wet.” Nadir throws a towel at him. RC takes off his shirt and starts to dry his body.

“My head feels sympathy for vinyl records. I need this room to stop spinning. I can feel the Earth shift. Thor is playing racquet ball with my brain. Get out of my skull!”

“You drank beyond your limit. You should not have been served. You are lucky the manager and I were able to come to an agreement.”

“The manager is an idiot, he thought I was Papa.”

“He didn’t think it was weird that you had a face and lost height?”

“I was sitting down, the face thing. I don't know, maybe he thought I was holding a mask or being, “normal,” tonight."

“Still.”

Before RC could offer a response, he twisted his body and vomited. Nadir is thankful he is in the shower.

“There it is.”

Nadir stands when his hips no longer can be ignored. He stretches his legs, does some exercises, before he leaves the boy to it.

RC finds spare clothing on the bed in the guest room, does a quick change and finds Nadir on the couch waiting for him with a cup of tea.

“So, what set you off tonight, little one.”

“You know Mother well?”

“I like to think so, she usually confides in Charles these days.”

“That’s the problem.” RC says through a closed mouth. His anger rising again, bubbling, ready to erupt like lava.

“Charles is in love with her, if that’s what you are asking or noticing.”

“And Mother?”

“I think there could be potential there. Your Mother has only ever been with your Papa. She never sought out another.”

“So, she just waits in a corner for Papa to come back, each time?”

“Isn’t that what you want? Your Mother waiting, your Papa coming back, having your family a unit again?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there we are then. That’s what Meg does.”

“Sorelli showed me a video of them kissing.”

“She may not be the most reliable person. Sorelli and your parents have a complicated relationship. With Christine, there is a friendship and understanding. Sorelli is a dark selfish creature who actively seeks to destroy.”

“So, of course Papa would want that too,” RC snaps bitterly.

“Sorelli has done some terrible things against your Mother, I would not take anything she says seriously, even if there is, “proof,” to back up her claims.”

“Christine has done some terrible things against my Mother!”

“Christine isn’t a saint by any means, but two wrongs don’t make something less wrong. Sorelli is cruel. Christine is naïve and just now understanding how the world is, instead of what she thought.”

“Stop defending Christine.”

“I’m not defending her; I’m trying to help you understand.”

“Friends don’t fuck their friend’s husbands.”

Nadir exhales deeply.

“I know. Like I said, Christine is no saint, and I would not argue her innocent. She knows what she is doing. Your Papa and Christine have a power over each other that defies logic. It’s pure passion, lust, with some love thrown in for good measure.”

“You want me to accept this, to ignore what I see? That it is justifiable? I’m the one who has to take care of Mother, to hold her hand, to tell her it’s going to get better.”

“You read comics, right?”

RC nods.

“Spider-Man fights Vulture, he saves the city from his machinations. Hurrah, yes.”

“Sure, he's a hero, what’s your point?’

“The point is, that Sally is dead because Spider-Man and Vulture were too busy fighting to notice her, to notice that they just broke a wall, and that collapses the ceiling and it landed on Sally. It wasn’t Peter’s intention to cause harm to her. He was careless in his actions, despite the lack of malicious intent.”

“So, Christine is Spider-Man, are you fucking kidding me?”

“She and Erik may not mean to hurt others when they do what they do, but there are victims, like you, like Raoul, your Mother.”

“You didn’t have to bring Spider-Man into this.”

“Fine, Batman.”

“That was a very reaching way to get to a point, but I think I understand.”

“What I’m here for.”

“You like her though, Christine.”

“I’ve learned long ago, to separate the person from the action. I hate her actions. I like the person. Her actions are thoughtless, careless, she knows what she is doing, so there is no ignorance or naivety to defend it. The actions are terrible and vile. The person? No. I like the person.”

“I don’t know if I can do that so easily.”

“It took time.”

“Well, you’re immortal and you could afford it.”

“You may have an extended life; we don’t know about you yet.”

“Yay.”

RC drinks his tea in silence and glares the carpet.

“Have you been able to get any more info, on your friend Lorne?”

“I’m trying to figure out the dates you gave me. I need his calendar. I know he has a very intense calendar.”

“Get the calendar.”

“This is all very illegal and exciting.”

“Just don’t let me know too much of the illegal stuff, so Hadley and I don’t lose this case.”

“Heard.”


	23. Chapter 23

* * *

* * *

**1933**

Charles and Meg sat together in the corner of the small dive. They had a terrible bottle of liquor that they were sharing.

The lighting in the establishment was lacking, Meg felt like her eyes were going to bleed, and she could not quite see the man across from her.

“This is going to be good for us. I say, construction is going to take another two months at the most.”

“We still need a composer.”

“I still say that a circus that performs Operettas and vignettes is a bit much. You’re not even going to be performing them.”

“I can’t, I’m going to be the Ringmaster, the host.”

“What are we calling this?”

“Persephone and Charon’s Above ground Adventures.”

“I’m Charon?”

“You’d totally be all about the boat.”

“If you say so.”

“My name is Charon; I like big boats and I cannot lie!” She hollers and shakes her hands.

“An Evening with Persephone and Charon.” Charles says in a very elegant and aristocratic voice. He even does a fancy hand turn motion.

“That sounds better.”

“The Mad Adventures of Our Lady Underground.” Meg shakes side to side, trying look seductive.

“I like the evening one.”

“Yeah?”

“Intimate, inviting, we’re saying come, hither you.” He beckons her with his hand, fingers moving wildly.

“An Evening with Persephone and Charon, it is.” The clink their glasses together to make it official. Meg plays with her glass.

“Ellie arrives tomorrow.”

“Yaytastic for you. We still need a composer. Put an advert out? Are you talented? Can you play and write music, but the world has shunned you, and thus you are hermit determined—”

“Composer wanted, pay negotiable.”

“Fine.”

Meg pouts and crosses her arms playfully. Charles wags his finger and shakes his head.

“If no one shows up I’m going to so be the opposite of pleased.”

“Eloquent as always, my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Oh, I mean, you know, friend.”

“Uh huh, your girlfriend.”

“You know what I mean!”

“What are you like!”

Charles stands up, he moves forward fast, grabs Meg and she has no choice but to follow.

“What are we doing?”

“Dance, this place is beat, let’s make it hot!”

They make up an intimate dance, the other patrons find it scandalous at first, but others start to laugh and cheer them on.

“Did you take lessons?”

“Had to if I wanted to keep up with you!”

As they laugh and make up dances, Sorelli watches them from a dark corner. She arrived earlier and she knew from his letters, that he would likely be here, and sure enough, Charles.

She narrows her eyes.

Meg.

Claws out.

She strides forward, pushes Meg out of the way with her hip and takes over the dance.

“Ellie!” Charles pulls her close.

\--

* * *

Charles and Meg met the only person to respond to their composer at the empty cantina that was on the property.

He was short, brown hair that reminded Meg of milk chocolate. He has a nervous disposition. Meg finds him endearing.

“Sorry, I’m not usually like this,” he half laughs, Meg and Charles were sure the truth is otherwise, but say nothing.

He finds the song he wants, and he picked up his instrument and begins to play.

Charles cut him off after a few minutes.

“Play something original and, can you play a different instrument?”

“Uh, violin, guitar, percussion,”

“Excellent! You’re hired!”

“Meg, we haven’t heard his original- “

“Oh fine.”

Meg sits back and pouts.

“Right my own shit, I mean work.” He bows and then he goes back to his bag and drops several different papers, and other items, and he makes a mad attempt to capture what he needs.

“I like him.” Meg says to Charles.

“I think he’d annoy me, but I can survive Jules.” He reasons.

“Okay, so this is inspired by Charon, the riverboat captain for Hades.”

It starts off slow, but as the music comes along, it becomes haunting, hypnotic, by the end of it, Meg is moved to tears, silently weeping. Charles feels disturbed.

“You’re paid twice a week, we provide your lodging, you cover your meals.” Charles says.

“What’s the salary?”

“Uh, 200?”

“Sure, 200 twice a week, we can afford it.”

“Is that fair?”

“Is that—I literally have nothing, so yes! Very fair, can I start, now?”

“We’re not opening for another month, but uh, if you want to settle in, pick a room, and maybe entertain the workers, we can pay you a smaller stipend, until we open to the public.”

“Yes, yes. I can do that.” He knocks over his stand, and the composition flies all over the place.

“What’s your name?”

“Eric Mercer.”

“Eric?”

“E-R-I-C. That’s me,” he says as he tries to pick up all his papers, his hands won’t stop shaking.

“Eric with a C! How about that Meg!”

“Yeah, how about that.”

“Is that unusual?”

“I have a composer named Erik in my life, but he has the “K”’

“Heh, pretentious spelling, but sure.”

He finishes gathering his papers.

“Where are the lodgings?”

\--

* * *

**Present**

Nadir cannot ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was asked to meet at a jeweler. Not a good sign. Nadir’s opinion was the only outside opinion that Erik took into consideration when it came to Big Life Stuff.

So here he is outside waiting, and he has been sitting on this conversation for years and he could stand to sit on it for several more.

“You could have waited inside.”

Nadir opens the door and lets Erik in first.

“So, shouldn’t you be doing this with Christine?” Nadir picks up random baubles and puts them down in new places. He tries on several different rings and other accessories as he moves around the store.

“Not here for Christine.”

“Jules? He likes cuff thingies.”

“You’re funny.”

Nadir sighs. He has practiced this conversation and it never ends well.

“Don’t you think that would be cruel? She’s been through enough; this would just be **_mean_**.”

“I want it this time.”

“Right now, maybe. As soon as you see Christine, you will give her the ring, and it will be wrong, so you’ll just come back here anyway.” Nadir picks up a broach designed as a dragonfly. Pink, red, blue stones have him mesmerized.

“I don’t want to marry **_her_**.”

“You can’t even say her name when you say that, so what does that tell you?”

Nadir clenches his fist and slides it into his pocket. He stands still for a moment; he looks back where the dragonfly had been before he moves on.

“I don’t want to marry . . . Christine.”

“You had to force yourself to say it, you don’t mean it. Don’t do this to Meg.”

“I saw that, you stall too much. Why do you think they call it, ‘sleight of hand,’?”

“I’m not a criminal, I don’t want advice on how to improve, and also, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She likes simple.” He looks through plain bands.

“Meg is **_not_** simple.”

“No.” He agrees and passes the bands for a new destination.

“Base it on her personality. She’s chaotic, she’s funny, she’s unafraid of you, she likes sad things, happy things make her sad,”

“Pearls.”

“A piece of trash that becomes beautiful.”

“Would she see it that way?”

“Erik, she proposed to you once using a coke tab pin, do you think she cares about metaphors when it comes to rings?”

“I wasn’t going for—”

“You are too dramatic to look at any of this without making it **_beyond_**.”

“Opal, perhaps.” He finds opal rings, picks one up, examines it, puts it down, and picks up another.

“Why are you doing this now?”

“I was ready to do this before. I got distracted.”

“Think, what would Bob Fosse get her.”

“Pearls and opals are worthy of her.”

“She’s worthy of all of this, but the real question is, are you worthy of **_her_**?”

“No.”

“So, what are we doing here? Lets just walk away and we can forget we came here.”

“I kept the pin she gave me, from the coke can. I wear it sometimes.”

“I bet it looks great with the ring Christine rejected.”

Erik finds a ring he likes, rose gold band, the small pearl is the center peace, pieces of metal shaped like leaves make up the band and design. Pearl on display amid fall. He takes it.

“I saw that.”

“She’ll want a set, engagement and wedding.”

“She’ll want someone who comes home at night.”

“Home isn’t a place.”

“Poetic nonsense.”

“Philistine.”

Nadir shakes his head and he picks up a bracelet.

“How’s the internship with the kiddo?”

“His second day we were already doing illegal things.”

“Good boy.”

“Yeah, knew you’d like that.”

\--

* * *

RC follows Lorne through the passageway. He answered his frantic call, and he had no idea what his friend wants or what he is saying. It was the energy that called his attention.

He met Lorne outside on some street and then he grabbed him, they walked through different alleys, up fire escapes, more alleys and finally a building, nay, a warehouse of some kind.

RC half expects the music from _Blade_ to just happen. Lorne leads him to large open room. RC thanks his genetics he can see perfectly in the dark and can maneuver past debris without stumbling.

“So, where we are then.” Lorne presents it, the body, his project. His mother.

RC recognizes the chemicals and tools that surround her on the metal table.

“Were you trying to **_stuff_** her?”

“Taxidermy is a healthy hobby.”

“That’s your mother.”

“Yes.”

RC nods. He does not know what else to do.

“Need a hand?”

* * *

**1933**

“Two trees, opposites of the road, branches out, like they are yearning, longing for each other, but they are rooted where they are, and it cannot be.” Megs raises her head up to look at Erik.

He came to visit her. His newest production premiers that evening and he came to spend the time before it together. They chose to spend that time in bed.

Erik is in a rare form of staying post coitus and cuddling mood. He holds Meg in his arms.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“That’s a tragic romance. They were seedlings and in love, but a cruel wind separated them, and now they cannot touch, they are stuck where they are, they can see, but never touch.”

“Same question.”

“That would make for a beautiful opera, or ballet, or some kind of composition, surely.”

“I don’t take commissions.”

“Is it a commission if I tell you, you have to do it?”

He kisses her shoulder.

“Have your other Eric do it.”

“I should never have told you about him.”

“He’s adequate for what you need.”

“That’s a compliment. My, my, we are growing.”

“It’s true. He’s not going to be timeless or remembered after your circus closes, but he is decent enough to put on an entertaining show for now.”

"There it is!" 

He bite her shoulder, and swats him. She looks over at the clock on her nightstand.

"You have five hours before your premier, do you think that's enough for you to get ready? You have to get your mask bedazzled, your outfit needs to be sent over from the Italian carnival and the hat! Pirates have it." She snaps her fingers.

He grabs her, and they roll over and he's on top of her.

"They won't start without me, in the contract. I show up late on purpose."

The door to the suite opens and Eric with a C enters, in an excited state, he's holding something in his hands.

"I have a new one! It's about trees! It's going to be very violin heavy since that's what I wrote it for, but you always prefer more of an acoustic sound, so I could also use the mandolin and guitar."

"That's Eric with a C." Meg says and waves.

"He has access to your room?'"

"I'm social and gregarious."

"You're being redundant."

"Your mask."

"I'll just leave it on the table, let me know what you think immediately, so I can prepare the rest of it!" Eric with a C calls as he leaves.

* * *

**Present**

RC is nervous, and he hates being nervous because there is no reason for him to feel these feelings. His mother forgives all. She holds no ill will or grudges. Hell, she still considers Christine her best friend.

RC knows that he should have kept his cool and attacking his mother the way did, was wrong, did not help the situation, and she did have a point that marriage is separate from mom-son relationship.

So, he took a deep breath and hops. He needs to stretch before he can back inside the penthouse and face his mother. He may have hurt her and seeing her sad breaks him.

He opens the door and goes inside. He hears laughter, which is a good sign, follows the sounds. His mother and Lorne are on the sofa.

“Mother?”

His mother turns around.

“You’re back. Your mood still grump?”

He shakes his head.

“No. I may have spoken out of turn.”

“Just a little,” she signals this with her hand. He nods.

“Lorne?” RC walks further into the room.

“I was looking for you, got distracted by a beautiful woman.”

“Lorne.” His mother shakes her head, eyes fluttering in playful irritation.

“Ugh, please.” RC jumps over the sofa and lands in the middle. This causes both Meg and Lorne to bounce and move into new positions.

“One day we’ll get married.”

“No.” Meg says simply.

“By the river seine.”

“No.”

“Is it the age difference.”

“Mostly.”

“Lorne what are you doing here?”

Lorne leaps from the couch.

“You helped me the other day and I want to return the favor!”

RC feels a cold knife stab his heart. Meg gets up from the couch.

“Helped you with what?” RC looks over at his mother. She stumbles her movements before she collapses. RC jumps from the couch and goes to her.

“Excellent, I thought the dose was too low.”

“What did you do?” RC holds Meg’s head gently and tries to revive her.

“You love her right? Don’t you want her to be around? This way, she can be around, and you don’t have to hear her or take of her, she won’t leave you, she will ignore you, which Is the price you have to pay, she can’t talk back, but you can fix that.”

Lorne knees down, dropping his bag of science.

“I don’t want you to do anything!”

“Help me get her to a better surface, and then we’ll need to remove her clothing and organs. Heh, take heart, right? Your Papa is funny. I know he’ll appreciate this.”

“Lorne, this is completely insane. You go make some tea, I’ll call someone to take Mother to a doctor and you and me can talk all of this out.”

“She doesn’t need a doctor. She’ll be better than any of us.” He digs his bag and takes out a scalpel.

“I won’t let you do this.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you’ll see why this is for the best.”

Lorne has quick hands and pulls the trigger on tranquilizer gun. Once Lorne is sure that RC is unconscious, he turns his attention back to Meg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rings I was using as base  
> https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/IWsAAOSw4CFYrcQG/s-l400.jpg
> 
> https://moonmagic.com/products/opal-diamond-ring-pinch-me?variant=27853033963592&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=Google%20Shopping&utm_cam-paign=.Shopping%20(US)%20General&utm_source=bing&utm_medium=cpc&utm_term=-&msclkid=b3e63a7a0a851c4f0b94650dd4f93989&utm_content=Opal
> 
> https://cdn7.bigcommerce.com/s-77qyoan9x9/images/stencil/1280x1280/products/5873/31909/il_570xN.1304558766_tuq3__29599.1507716970.jpg?c=2&imbypass=on


	24. Timing Is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every action has lasting consequences, some more obvious, others subtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My playful Megspiration:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSsRTL2vYYM
> 
> that's totally a word now.
> 
> song obsession while writing this chapter  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLRVasfC_gc

* * *

**2008**

Meg immediately kneels and checks on the cowering, crying boys. She hugs them both, soothes them, she kisses her son and squeezes Lorne’s hand. She looks over and stands, Erik isn’t moving. She taps him, gets his attention, he turns.

Meg backs away, she gasps in horror, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with fear, he moves towards her as she tries to retreat.

His face.

He told her once that there is a way to be less monstrous, to appear more human. He told her what he must do.

His lips.

They are no longer swollen, or malformed. They are perfect, fit for a handsome face. His skin is no longer inflamed--

Her body quakes. She trips on her own feet; he kneels to be level with her. He cups her face with his hands, she looks beyond him, to the crumpled heap of a person.

“What have you done?”

“Consequences, consequences.” He kisses her.

“Consequences?” Meg turns away.

“She wants something but wasn’t willing to **_give_**. You cannot take without giving. I simply reminded her.”

Meg looks at the human form, it is shaking.

“Is she going to be okay?”

He shrugs.

Meg looks over to Lorne.

* * *

**2013**

Meg finally had the free time to do something she’s always wanted to do, participate actively in RC’s school life. This weekend, she got to do just that, help chaperone a field trip to the zoo.

So here she is, in charge of a group of six, including her son and Lorne. They’re supposed to draw, write down interesting facts about the animals, and write down questions they are to ask and then have answered later by a keeper.

Lorne has not left her side since they got off of the bus, much to the annoyance of her little one.

“Stupid cats.” Meg mutters. They are watching the lions now. They are sunbathing. Meg looks to Lorne; he pulls a face to match her feelings.

“Cats are dumb,” he agrees. They share a quick smile, before looking away. RC takes offense, his eyes, everyone likes to remind him, to point out, are **_feline_** like.

“ ** _I_** like cats. I **_am_** a cat.” He glares at Lorne. He does not like his best friend much today. He has been taking all the attention of his mother.

“You’re **_like_** a cat.” Meg corrects gently. She taps his nose; he bats her hand away angrily. She frowns.

“Don’t be like that,” she says. He crosses his arms and looks ahead.

Lorne makes a face, he pulls at his lips, he crosses his eyes. Meg laughs, RC ignores it, he looks down fiercely. He will not participate in their humor or mirth.

“You’re just like your Papa,” Meg sighs and looks back to the boring, stupid, sunbathing big cats.

“Hmph.” He elbows Lorne as he walks away to a different animal exhibit. Lorne looks back to Meg and then stands closer to her as they both look at the lions.

“He grumpy, but he’ll be in a better mood after lunch.”

Lorne nods, but they both know he will not eat.

“My mom likes cats.” Lorne says quietly. Meg squeezes his shoulders. She kisses the back of his head and looks ahead silently.

“Why don’t you take a picture for her?” Meg rummages through her purse and hands him her phone.

“We’ll take you back to our penthouse and you can print it and give it to her. I’m sure she’ll like it.”

Lorne plays with the phone and takes random pictures of the lions. Meg knows and he knows that his mother will not be aware of anything, but they can pretend.

“You’re a good boy, Lorne.” Meg squeezes his shoulders lovingly and he smiles at her, before taking more pictures.

\--

* * *

**2016**

Lorne is fifteen and has discovered something, something that has always been on the back of his mind. He is in love with his best friend’s mother, Meg Giry.

She is the song that is on his breath, the music of his heart, nay! His soul. She is his first and last thought. He wants to swim in her rose waters and drink her perfume. He just wishes he could speak when she is in his presence. Such as now.

Lorne practically lives with the Giry’s. He spends much of his time there. He spends the weekends there, staying for the entirety of it in most cases. He has been on vacations with them. He’s attended various award ceremonies, met all kinds of unique and strange people and artists through them.

Sometimes Meg even introduces Lorne as a son.

_“These are my boys,” Indicating Lorne and RC, they grunt in response._

Lorne does not want to be thought of as a son though, he is a man. He looks down at himself. He knows he is not ugly. He has the attention of the female population at school.

He looks at his heart’s desire, she is reading a book at the end of the sofa. She's sitting half cross legged, one leg over her lap, while the other is on ground. She is lost to the universe that is around her.

Then there is the problem. He looks away. RC’s father,

**_Erik._ **

His competition.

The monster who destroyed his world.

_“I play to wreck your world,”_

that is Erik.

He walks up behind her on the sofa, he kisses her neck and then she comes back to the world.

“ _You have a bedroom_ ,” RC sings annoyed. He turns the volume up on the television.

Meg giggles, she covers her face with her book, leaving her mischievous eyes free. Erik offers her his hand; she stands up and he leads her away.

Lorne tries to be cool.

“Ugh. I hate when they do that,” RC says to Lorne, before turning back to the program.

Lorne nods.

What’s so great about Erik anyway? Those stupid masks that he wears. Daft Punk wears helmets, so original! Sia always hides her face, he’s not unique in that regard, no sir!

He’s tall, sure, being tall is nifty. Lorne’s not tall but doesn’t mean he can’t be enticing. He’s clever and can extend his reach.

Erik has a skeletal frame. Boo! Wind could knock him down and he’d fly away!

Lorne is athletic. He’s been the captain of the swim team, he plays baseball, and soccer. He has got a body.

Erik has intensely superhuman strength despite his weak ass frame of a body.

Lorne, does not, so win for Erik.

Erik is non practicing architect, award winning composer, and the most wanted among the elite and art and culture scene.

Oh, and his voice can literally hypnotize you, and with it he can coax you into doing anything he wants you to do. He of course uses this power for evil.

He can play almost any instrument with perfection. A true virtuoso of music.

_“ **Not** the wind instruments, I mean he says he can **now** ,” RC trails off._

He speaks ten million languages, is French, has the stupid sexy accent, which irritates both Lorne and RC.

( ** _“I’m_** French, why do I have to have an **_American_** accent,”

“Because you’re being raised **_in_** America, sweet thing,”

“Which makes you **_American_** , **_not_** French, if we’re being accurate,”)

-A conversation with RC and his parents-

He constantly leaves Meg for another woman, and Meg stays and waits for him to return, which he does, which is infuriating!

He has freaky, freaky _**golden** _feline eyes.

Okay, the eyes are kind of cool, he must give Erik that one too.

So, he wins on the eyes and strength, everything else is over the top and too damn much!

Lorne sighs, Meg still only sees him as her second son. He starting to learn Italian and French on the side, he is taking piano lessons. What more does he have to do?

Lorne looks over at the book Meg had been reading. He nods. He has now got to brush up on mythology. The things he does for love.

\--

* * *

**A Few days later.**

Lorne Drexler’s father is a raging drunk. He has fallen from his high perch and into a pool of alcoholism and abuse. Lorne is shaking on RC’s bed, covered in blood, tears and bruises.

Meg is not amused and refuses to let Martin into her home. He is not taking it well. He forces the door open, causing Meg to jump backwards.

She will not be intimidated by this wretch. She stands her ground.

“He’s not coming home tonight. He is staying here. You’re going home, alone.” Meg’s voice is firm. She keeps her hands at her sides, her eyes unblinking, staring into his own.

“You don’t have the right to tell me what my son is doing or what I’m doing. His speech is slurred, and he cannot keep a balance. He sways, he must keep his hands out, to catch himself.

“It’s for the best you leave now and alone. You don’t want to do anything else you will regret.”

“You stupid whore,” he backhands her, Meg winces, but her affect doesn’t change. She stands her ground.

“I’m not leaving without him,” he shouts. Meg is unfazed and unafraid.

Erik comes out from the shadows, curious at this display and the sounds Martin makes. Martin is lucky that Erik did not witness him strike Meg. He would not be intact, if he had.

“What’s this?” He joins Meg. She does not remove her focus from Martin.

“New toy? Insect for the spider?” Erik is hopeful. Meg shakes her head, she places a hand on his chest, he looks down and takes into his, plays with it.

“Martin is just leaving, aren’t we?”

“I--”

“Because you have a long walk back home, a lot of things to think about.” Meg walks forward, removing her hand from Erik. She gently grabs Martin, slowly turns him around and walks him to the door, and out into the hallway.

“You don’t need an escort, do you?” She is halfway out the door. He shakes his head.

“No,” he sighs. Meg smiles sadly.

“Call when you reach home.” She is not asking, he nods. Meg bites her lips.

“Wait. I’ll get you a cab, that’s the least I can do,” She closes the door and takes him, steadies, and walks him to the elevator to the lobby.

She helps him into the cab, gives the driver directions and wishes Martin well.

Meg holds herself as she walks back to the elevator, there is nothing she can do, in realty, to fix the damage done to Martin and Lorne’s house, the wife and mother, Laurel.

Sometimes Meg really wishes she had the capacity or capability to hate Erik. She digs her nails into her palms, she inhales the tears and shame.

She shakes it off as the elevator dings and opens. She walks back purposely slow.

RC has convinced Lorne to take a shower, he is cleaned up, and wearing some of RC’s clothing, it is awkward on his frame. He remains inside himself, closed off to the world and RC.

Meg knocks softly on the bedroom door, she has a bowl of ice cream, pistachio, Lorne’s favorite. She buys this ice cream for Lorne, he is over enough, that she takes his food preferences into consideration.

She sits down on the bed, and places the bowl onto his lap, and brings his hands to it. He looks up. He nods, he holds on the spoon and digs in.

When he looks at Meg again, he almost falls from the bed. She is smiling with redneck teeth, joke teeth, she bought for herself and fun a long time ago.

Lorne had not expected such a sight. He is stunned, then he is overcome with laughter. He falls from the bed and onto the floor. His body surrenders to humor, his chest shakes, he is crying from this bubble of ludicrousness.

“Mafph ew smile,” she says, the teeth make it difficult to speak.

“Mother,” RC’s chides, but he is not serious. He is happy his friend is laughing now; it is preferable from his previous state.

Meg’s work is complete. She touches RC’s shoulder as she leaves, he closes the door and turns his attention back to Lorne.

Meg removes the teeth, sighs happily. She could at least do that one thing, bring back his smile.

* * *

**2017**

Lorne looks down at his project and then to the clock. He promised he would meet RC before 10 and he has one more hour.

He wipes sweat from his brow and looks over to his guide, his text.

Loren loves the natural history museum and each year for his birthday, that is what he wants to do, how he wants to spend his special day.

Erik and Meg never had birthday celebrations of their own, so they indulged the boys, Lorne is basically their son anyway, informally adopted, and Martin is too drunk to do anything for Lorne’s birthday or any day.

This year had been no different. He loses his breath at each display of the animals, some long extinct, others more modern, and alive.

He asked about the animal displays, the reason he came. Time being kept still, a moment captured forever.

“It’s basically taxidermy,” the worker told him.

Taxidermy is fascinating. Lorne is mesmerized by the idea of forever.

He picks up the syringe and the chemical he needs. He cleaned the specimen, he removed the blood, other fluids and organs, stitched the body back up, he’s been practicing using turkeys and chickens.

He looks down at his work. He frowns. His father never did get his smile back.

Lorne’s phone buzzes, he sighs and answers. He hates being interrupted.

“Hey, yeah. I’m almost done with tutoring, I’ll meet you at the station in ten minutes,” He ends the call and conversation.

Lorne sighs. RC hates riding the train alone. For someone who claims he hates people, being bothered or around people, the idea of being alone, scares him, so he always tries to have Lorne around.

_“Why not Gideon?” Lorne asks him one day._

_“Because I don’t want to be needy or clingy.” RC says as if this is obvious._

_“So, you’re needy and clingy with me?” Lorne asks, eyebrow raised._

_“You’re family, you don’t count.”_

Lorne shakes his head clear of the memory.

He considers carving the smile.

\--

* * *

**45 minutes ago**

Lorne knocks on the door; he does not really need to do this. He was given a spare key, and told where they keep the spare, spare key.

Meg answers and lets him in. He follows her to the sofa, where she turns the program to mute and gives him her attention.

He has not stopped by to visit his adopted family for a few weeks, which is not like him. He usually stops by, says hello, then moves on, but he has been too distracted by school, his internship, and personal projects.

“Have you been able to receive the help you need to care for your mother?” Meg asks, she is the only one he’s comfortable with talking about his mother, despite the circumstances and her situation.

“Since father has been at the center,” he nods, Meg smiles sadly.

“He’s been there for a few years now, no improvement in his case at all?”

Lorne’s throat dries up and it is sticky, the skin sticks together, and as he tries to swallow, it is painful. He shakes his head.

“I visit sometimes,” he lies, he hates lying to her,” but there’s not much that can be done for him,”

“If you need anything,” she holds onto his hand, he wants to do more than hold hands, he nods.

Lorne points to the television, a program they both enjoy has started. Meg turns the volume on, and they both sit back and watch.

They get lost into the program and do not hear RC enter at first. Loren doesn’t remember what he’s saying, RC jumps over the couch and lands in the middle of the two, ever the son blocking ref.

Lorne stands up, and exhales, now or never. This is the only way he can be with her without interference.

He grabs his bag from the spare room and returns, he slipped a dose into her coke, when she slipped away to the bathroom, he did not measure it, so he is hoping it’s enough.

He smiles as she collapses, he checks his watch, on time. RC is at her side; he didn’t count on him being here.

He reaches into the bag, and with some regret, he pulls the trigger. RC staggers before he is unconscious.

Lorne gathers Meg into his arms, and he swings her over his shoulder before he carefully steps over RC’s prone form. He salutes and closes the door.

\--

* * *

RC eyes flutter and blink before he opens them fully. His head is fuzzy, his thought muggy. He cannot hear or think properly. His body aches, his neck.

He pulls something from it, a small dart. He’s confused. He drops it, he grabs his head, and then he remembers, the memory comes back, punches his brain.

He looks around in mad panic. Meg and Lorne are not there. He gets to his feet, which is a mistake, he falls onto his rear. He tries to stand, slower this time.

His phone!

He presses the number.

_“Hello, hello.”_

“Uncle, you were right. He is completely insane. You win.”

_“Of course, I am right. Who’s completely insane?”_

_“_ Lorne. He has mother, and I think he drugged me and they’re not here!”

_“He has Meg? Wait, he **drugged** you?! Reza-Charles, where are you? Are you injur--”_

“I’m sending the address to the warehouse he may be using. Save my mother!”

_“RC—"_

“Sending!”

RC ends the call and forces his legs to work, so he can get out and make it the warehouse on his own.

\--

* * *

Meg eyes open. She feels very heavy. The light above her has a heat that is oppressive. She closes her eyes, but the red glare is not escapable. She can see the vein from her skin and eyelid throb.

She covers her eyes with her hands for protection. She slowly sits up, her head feels like it’s 200 pounds heavier than it should be.

She slides off the cold metal table. The rest of this place has more subdued lighting.

There Is a trail of small candles on the ground. It looks like she’s in someone’s winter cabin or hunters lodge. The walls are a faux stone, there are mounted animal heads on display.

She is barefooted and has been changed into a silk white gown. It has long sleeves, it’s split down the middle, exposing her chest, and it’s floor length, also split exposing her legs.

Meg does not like it or that someone dressed her while she was unconscious. She has **_strong_** words for whomever did this.

The sight before takes her a breath away. A strange mannequin wearing a dress, no, **_her_** yellow dress, the one that’s been missing, that she thought she’d thrown out, is posed mid action, laughing. A hand at the mouth, the other reaches out to the child mannequin.

No.

Meg walks closer, her body and soul are chilled. These are not mannequins. She runs forward, and there are other displays.

A blonde woman and a child, each scene, a “child,” has aged.

Then at the end of the room, are several pictures of her, over the years. They all feature her and Lorne at various stages of his life.

The candles illuminate the shrine, the images. As Meg steps back, she can see that the smaller images create a larger image of her face.

A brief history of Lorne’s life in images that make up her face. She dares to reach out for a moment before she snaps her hand back.

All these moments, memories, captured forever.

Birthdays, there is the time she took him to the park, and the mime that chased them after Lorne kicked him in the pants, the lions from the zoo, Meg asleep, when did he takes pictures of her sleeping, and without Erik saying something?

Meg covers her mouth with both hands. This is too much, too weird. She turns, and Lorne is there, his hands are behind his back.

“You took my dress.” Meg is not sure why that is the first thought to convey but it is.

He looks down, ashamed.

“You look good in it. It smells like you.” He looks up halfway, wanting approval, forgiveness.

“Of course it does, it’s **_my_** dress.” Meg snaps.

Meg’s eyes widen, she is ashamed by her own abrasive tongue. She shakes her head, she is confused, angry, disgusted. She keeps her mouth covered with her hands, feeling it is better this way. Keeps her from speaking out of turn or spewing regretful sauce sarcastic.

“I didn’t want to forget.” He uses his head to gesture to the display.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” She can feel laughter coming, she does not know how else to react.

“I love you.”

She should have had this conversation when he was ten. She nods, she smiles, not because she is happy, or the feelings are mutual, but because all of this could have been avoided, and it’s her fault he’s so screwed up.

“We need to have a conversation.” She nods, she closes her eye, and blinks rapidly.

“You—we can wait.” He walks backwards into the shadows.

“No, we need to have this now. Lorne, I,” Meg opens her eyes. He’s gone. She looks around.

“I read the stories; I figured it out. I know why you are the way you are. You never changed your name.”

She looks around the room, where is he? He comes back into the light, holding a book of some kind, no, a large ledger.

“You’re from the old opera house that burned down in Paris.”

There is a picture of the old company, 1881, Opera Populaire. Meg and 30 something others in a faded image, from a newspaper reviewing their production of Faust, and another of Hannibal, the focus on Christine.

“I don’t- “

“Marguerite Giry disappears, her mother found dead in her home. Christine Daae refuses to discuss her abduction, leaves with the Vicomte,”

“And we all got annoyed that Charles refused to change his name,” she laughs bitterly.

“It’s you. And the others, the group that you always surround yourselves with, it is them. Christine, the **_mysterious_** Persian, Charles, is **_the_** Charles of—"

“You’re clever.” Meg says softly. Meg looks back at the book containing the articles.

“My mother was found dead? I did not know about that, I thought she just didn’t want to write to me. Did they say how?”

Loren shakes his head in frustration.

“That’s not the point. I know your secret and I don’t care.”

“Lorne, I’m sorry, but this crush, is all that it is. A crush. I cannot and do not feel the same way.”

“It doesn’t matter, that can change,” he shakes his head and slams the book shut.

“Lorne, I need you to listen what I’m saying.” She follows him.

“You need time.”

“I need you to listen. I do not have romantic feelings toward you. I love you like I love my son.”

“You’re confused, it’s okay.”

She shakes her head, she grabs both of his hands, trying to get him to focus.

“I do not romantically care for you. I never have, I never will.” He removes his hands from hers and slaps her, she is too stunned to react.

_This is what Christine went through._

Meg walks backwards, away from his madness. She remembers her friend, in tears, shaking, telling her how she escaped, her lies to preserve her life, and the desperate act of suicide, before she, before she.

Meg shakes her head; she is not strong like Christine.

“You just need time.” He says.

Meg nods.

She just needs time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original novel, while The Persian and Raoul hide in the lair, they find out Christine is tied/bound to a chair.  
> They find that to be odd so this scene happens:
> 
> "Christine, why are you bound to the chair," the Persian asks.  
> "I tired to kill myself by repeatedly hitting my head against the wall," her head and face, they can now see, is covered with blood.
> 
> so that wasn't in the musical.


	25. End of One Nightmare Lead to Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg and her ghost have a time, we go on a journey.

* * *

* * *

Laurel is a fantastic actor with endless patience. It was not long before she had Meg Giry hooked on her line. She and the blonde dancer have regular coffee and lunch during the past several weeks.

Their sons have regular playdates and sleepovers. The only issue is that Laurel has not been introduced to anyone inside Giry’s inner circle yet.

Laurel is not even sure who RC’s father is.

“There is a benefit tonight for single mother’s in the city.” Laurel says, she’s trying to fish.

“It must be hard; those are strong women. I don’t think I could do that.”

“No, we’re lucky, aren’t we?”

Meg nods.

“Men with money.”

“Does RC’s father ever, is he involved?” Laurel is tried of dancing around the subject.

“Erik? Yes, we’re raising RC together.”

“Erik, that’s your husband’s name?”

Meg laughs, she shakes her head.

“We’re not married, we’re **_together,_** but we’re not married.” Meg explains.

“Erik,” Laurel says, she’s not sure how the name sets against her teeth. Erik. She knows the names of the others in this group she wants to be a part of.

“Yes,” Meg nods.

“What does he do, exactly? I don’t believe you’ve told me much about him.”

“Erik? Oh. He had an architecture firm before he had a friend take over. He is a composer; you have probably heard of him. His productions always sell out. He writes operas, music,” Meg trails off. Her voice becomes dust, white nothing in the background of life.

Ding, ding, ding. Laurel’s heart is punched by her brain. **_Erik_**.

“He’s the eccentric that wears those masks?” Laurel does all she can not to salivate, her body is all a tremble.

Meg nods.

“That’s RC’s father?”

Meg nods.

“That’s him, my guy.”

Meg just made Laurel’s universe. Meg is not only among the group, but she is shacked up with their **_leader_**. Oh, Laurel is not going to let Meg go now.

“Would you like to go his premier tonight? His latest.” Meg asks. Laurel nods.

“I would like that.”

“I’ll leave you tickets then.”

Meg is true to her word; the tickets were left with concierge of Laurel’s building. The opera did not hold her interest, she is too distracted.

Erik is here. She has an excuse to meet him.

_“Meg gave me tickets, she told me so much about you, our boys are friends, they go to school together, say would like you to have tea next week?”_

Laurel can hardly contain herself. Once the production is over, she returns to the main lobby of theatre. She needs Meg to be around, Meg is in her in.

She spies the crowd, perhaps they left though a back entrance, private?

She is about to give up when she sees **_him_**.

He is walking out with an ethnic man.

“It’s just not my scene, E. I prefer to have a beer at a sports bar, while music plays over shitty loudspeakers.”

“Philistine.”

“We see culture differently.”

“You know nothing of culture if you find this,”

“Where is Meg?”

“I’m not here with Meg.”

A dark-haired woman joins them. The ethnic man frowns. Laurel frowns too, who is that? Meg is supposed to be an in, hm. She could potentially use this.

“Christine,” the other man says, she nods, they exchanged pained smiles. She links arms with Erik, and they walk out together, the other man reminds behind.

He digs into his pocket, lights up a cigarette.

Laurel shakes it off. Perhaps she can get a private meeting yet. Laurel leaves the theatre her mind on the next scheme.

After a few more coffee adventures, Laurel and Martin are invited to an exclusive dinner and theatre outing.

“If you don’t mind, Erik’s best friend Nadir can watch your son, we usually have him look after RC when we go out.” Meg says.

“That would be fine,” Laurel is not paying much attention, she is trying to formulate her strategy for the evening.

Martin and Laurel arrive at the restaurant. Martin clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disapproval.

“My wallet just set itself on fire. Laurel, are you positive this is where we are to meet? We cannot afford this.”

“Oh, don’t be such a fussbucket, we can afford one dinner here.”

Meg and Erik reserved a room in the back for privacy. They found the booth, Erik and Meg had already arrived. They ordered wine and some appetizers.

Laurel did not care for any of that, she could not pull her focus from Erik. He’s leaned back into the booth, an arm draped around the back of booth Meg is occupying.

The evening is a blur, each time Erik speaks or responds to anything Laurel says, it sends chills up and down her spine.

“This is lovely,” Meg says, she is enjoying the company, having new friends, outside of Erik’s little immortal toy collection.

“Time wasn’t completely wasted.” Erik plays with Meg’s hair.

“We’re having friends over this weekend. Why don’t you bring Lorne, he can spend the night?”

There are stars and galaxies in Laurel’s eyes, she nods. Her mouth drops. Erik leans forward, and with his fingers, he gently pushes it up.

“Erik,” Meg scolds lightly.

Laurel gets lost into those glowing golden feline eyes, and he does not break the gaze. Martin coughs, Laurel blinks, her attention taken away, Erik slowly turns his attention elsewhere.

The weekend arrives, Lorne wastes no time in running to RC, he takes him to his playroom.

“The rent must be astronomical,” Martin says he looks around. The penthouse is something else.

“Not really, I own the building.” Erik shrugs.

“You **_own_ **the building?”

“I own a few, the Plaza Gardens, Rosemont, Villa Metro,” Erik trails off.

“We live at Rosemont,” Martin says, he is uneasy, Laurel shoots him a quick glare. Martin is about to say something, but his mobile sets off.

“I must take this,” he bids an apology before stepping outside.

Meg returns.

“The boys promised to stay in the playroom until bedtime. Would like you anything to drink? I’m about to set up the—”

“Don’t we have help coming to do that?” Erik pulls Meg away from the kitchen.

“I can serve a friend a drink,” Meg says as she sits down on the sofa.

Ten minutes later, a catering staff arrives, sets up a party platter. A drink and dessert station. The other guests arrive, and Laurel cannot help but swoon, fill up.

This is the group she needs, wants to feed from, even if just scraps.

Meg is talking to her, but Laurel does not know or see her. She is trying not to kiss Erik’s feet and beg for a new life.

Erik slips away and Meg makes his apologizes.

“He usually likes to be alone after a while, when certain things are lacking,” Meg explains with a sad smile. Laurel sets off after him, claiming a restroom visit Is required.

Laurel finds him in the bedroom, she does not know what comes over her, but she’s feeling brave and lets herself in.

He tilts his head to the side, sits down at the chair by the vanity and waits. Laurel kneels before him.

\--

* * *

Meg checks her watch. Charles and Jules left, the lack of illicit substances got to them, Nadir was called away by Hadley, some new lead on a case, Martin left at the start, some work issue.

Meg walks to the playroom, and the boys are not there. She frowns, that is no good. They promised to stay.

There is not much they can get up to, Meg walks back into the hall, and she stops. Something is not quite right. Her bones are tingling. That is not a good sign.

Meg turns, the door to her bedroom, there is something about it. It’s calling her, Meg obeys the silent siren call and walks forward, she opens the door.

The boys are cowering, shaking, crying. She wastes no time and practically jumps onto them. She checks her little guy first, no bruises, no broken skin, he is physically intact. She kisses him.

She checks Lorne, he is fine, physically. She squeezes his hand. She looks up, Erik’s back is to her, his head is low, his fists clench and unclench.

She kisses RC and squeezes Lorne’s hand one more time, before she slowly stands to her feet, she taps Erik.

He slowly turns,

Meg gasps in horror,

He walks towards her,

She backs away, her eyes wide, wet with sorrow, fear, her organs are in a freezer, she is drowning in the sea, she trips over the prone boys and lands beyond them.

Time speeds up, and he is kneeling, invades her space.

“What have you done?”

\--

* * *

Meg checks on her friend a few times a week. Martin is too drunk to notice, and Erik honestly forgot that Laurel even existed.

That is the kind of monster he is, once he was through with his toy, they cease to be. She is thrown out with the garbage, no longer a lingering thought, or even in the corner of his mind or hidden spaces.

Meg holds up a picture, something that Loren drew and entered a contest, he won a prize, she presents it to Laurel.

She knows that Laurel is not aware of her presence or the picture. Whatever Erik did to her, took care of that, took her away.

The lights are on, but no one is home.

Laurel does not live here anymore. Meg gently takes Laurel’s hand and traces the image.

“Lorne made this,” Meg says, she has Laurels fingers trace the lines, the colors.

“Isn’t it beautiful? He is incredibly talented. He’s also on the soccer team now, he’s got so much energy.”

Meg puts the picture aside, on the table before them. Meg digs inside her purse, and takes out her phone, she presses some buttons, and then shows it to the other woman.

“I have a video of him playing, see? He scored the winning goal.”

Meg checks the time, she has to pick RC up, his music are lessons ending soon.

“I have to go now, I’ll see you again soon,” Meg leans over and kisses her friend on the top of the head.

\--

* * *

Meg can separate herself from her mind and body, and that is what she is doing. Lorne brushes her hair, he hums a song. He parts her hair and starts to braid it.

“I bought you another yellow dress that you can wear. I know it is light and flowy, so you can dance. You always said you would teach me to dance.”

Meg’s ghost tries to shake her body, to get her to move, to stand up, but it is no use. Her body simply is.

“RC is trying to call me, I had to get rid of the phone. I don’t need him anymore, and once you get used to this place, you won’t either.”

Meg smiles and nods, she does not know what he says, but she smiles and nods, he reacts positive when she smiles and nods.

Meg’s ghost runs over to the table and picks up a scalpel, she places it into Meg’s hand.

Meg looks down, there is nothing there, but she feels something, she feels something, she turns her head, Lorne, turns it back.

“Shh. I need you to stay still.”

“I need you to get up. We need you to get up, get out of this place. Now. You can take him,” Meg’s ghost kneels in front of her, holds onto her legs.

Meg looks into those sad, angry, pleading eyes.

“You can do this.”

“Your hair is very soft.” Lorne takes a step back, admiring his work

“Come on, please.” Meg’s Ghost buries her face into Meg’s lap.

“I got something for you,” Lorne steps forward, and he brings something to her neck, an emerald teardrop pendant, on a rose gold chain.

“I saw this and thought of you, I’ve had It for a while, I just needed a reason and a time to give it to you.”

Meg touches it, her fingertips trace the stone. He holds onto her hand, she looks up.

He looks into the eyes for several moments, he shakes his head, he pulls her up to her feet, he places his hand on her waist and around her back.

“You said you’d teach me to dance.”

“Dance straight to hell,” says the Ghost.

Meg places her hand onto his shoulder, and moves her feet, he awkwardly follows her lead, she is slow in her movement, not coordinated, but he follows.

“Music could help, maybe.” He steps away. Meg’s Ghost follow him.

“Releasing us would help.” Meg’s Ghost slaps him, but her hand makes no contact.

Meg laughs despite the situation, it is a quite laughter, almost a secret. Lorne turns on the radio and he walks back over.

He moves into his previous position. Meg’s Ghost tries to grab, to pull her away.

“You haven’t said anything for a while, are you okay?”

Meg says nothing, she turns her head, then lifts her chin up. He is trying to read her face, to gather clue as to what she’s feeling.

“You’re **_psychotic_** and I want a soft pretzel,” the Ghost says, she blows the hair from her eyes, and crosses her arms.

Meg smiles and chuckles. Lorne releases the breath he didn’t not know he was holding. A smiling, laughing Meg is a good, he reasons.

“Are you hungry? You keep looking at the table.” Meg tils her head down, he takes that for a yes. He takes a step back, he leads her to a chair, and helps her sit down.

He kisses her neck and then he goes to the kitchen, as he walks lightning strikes his brain

_“You burned it!”_

_\--_

* * *

**2017, The Kitchen, RC’s Penthouse**

“You burned it!” Reza Charles slaps Lorne in the back of the head. They are trying to make chocolate fondue, and they burned the chocolate, or rather, Lorne did.

“I followed the instructions,” he holds up the piece of paper.

“Evidence to the contrary,” RC says dryly and points to the pot on the stove. Lorne frowns. It was his idea to make the chocolate fondue, mostly because he wanted to impress Meg with his cooking skills, alas he has none it seems.

“You’re **_French_** , you’re supposed to have magical culinary skills, what’s your excuse?” Lorne snaps.

“As everyone likes to point out, I’m **_American_** ,” RC says peevishly.

“What’s this?” Meg asks as she enters the kitchen, holding grocery bags, Lorne, jumps to her aid, grabbing them from her.

“Failing at cooking.”

Meg peers down at the pot.

“I think I can salvage this,” She adjusts the cooking temperature.

“Now watch a true master at work,” Meg says, Lorne eyes focus on her, and she is all that is in his universe.

“Voila!” Meg kisses her fingers; she saved the dying chocolate.

“You’re amazing.” Lorne is breathless, he leans a little too close and Meg smiles and ducks under and exits the kitchen.

\--

* * *

Lorne has a date with Addie, and he’s changed into his suit. He is stopping by to pick up RC, they’re doing a double date. Erik lets him in and then goes back to whatever it was he had been doing, leaving him alone in the main room. Meg walks in and stops. She smiles.

“Well, aren’t we looking handsome, got a hot date?”

Lorne forgets about Addie, he opens his mouth, closes it. He wants to tell her that no girl in the world will ever compare to her, but RC is ready.

RC grabs his arm and they leave in haste, Lorne salutes his goodbye, and she goes turns on the television, already forgetting him.

\--

* * *

“I’m not going to Prom,” Lorne says, he’s trying to finish his French assignment.

“Why? Addie says she’s going.” RC has finished all his homework and is sprawled on the floor, bored, waiting to correct Lorne’s French assignment.

“I don’t dance, and I don’t have anything final with Addie.”

“What?”

“Addie isn’t my woman. I don’t want her.” Lorne doesn’t want to say anymore.

“I mean, you’re not married to her, but I thought you were solid.”

“We’re not you and Gideon, I don’t **_feel_** anything for her. She was fun, we spent time together, and it was nice, but I don’t want anything serious.”

“Oh.”

“I’m in love with someone else, but I don’t think it’s going to work out. I’m trying to move on, sort those feelings out.”

“Who?”

“I-no one you know. Someone I met while you were in France last summer.” Lorne hates lying, but he knows he has to.

“Mysterious. I don’t think secret loves should be allowed.”

“When I’m ready to tell you, I will.”

“I suppose I can accept that.”

* * *

Lorne does not remember running, the train, or being let in. He cannot see, because his left is eye is swollen shut now, and the other eye is stinging closed because of the blood and sweat.

Meg has a towel and is cleaning his face.

“Think we need to have a conversation about ducking,” Meg says, trying to keep things light. Lorne does not hear her, she sighs. She uses the towel, dabs his eyes gently.

“A nice hot shower will make you feel better,”

The doorbell sets off, and Meg hands the towel to RC, who takes over.

Meg has a good idea who it is, and surprise, surprise she is correct.

Lorne can hear them, RC takes him to his bedroom, hands him spare clothing and a towel. He jumps into the shower, and lets the hot water scold his skin and he welcomes the pain.

He dresses without thinking much and finds his way back to RC’s room and sits down on the bed. His eyes still hurt like a mother, and he feels empty.

Meg sits down the bed and places the bowel of ice cream onto his lap. He looks down and then back up

His everything explodes a strange shock.

Her face, those fake teeth. He slips into something, a place of madness. He falls from the bed and laughs. He can hear it, see it, know it feel it, he is drowning.

* * *

RC and Lorne sneak back into the penthouse, as soon as his parents left for their whatever, RC and Lorne left for theirs, a party on Long Island.

Lorne trips on something in the hall, he picks it up, a yellow dress?

“Oh, gods.” RC grabs Lorne and pulls him into his bedroom fast.

“Why is there a dress in the hall?” He’s still holding it, it’s yellow, light, pretty, simple.

“ ** _Think_** about it.”

Lorne does. His heart is sick. It is not cheating since she’s not his, but it still hurts him.

* * *

RC is in a rage, Gideon and Lorne follow his movements with their eyes. RC’s Papa fucked off again with Christine. He didn’t give much a farewell, he just took off, like he does, like he’s going away for a weekend work event.

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him,” He starts to pick things up and throws them around.

“Rezy,” Gideon does the supportive husband bit, and Lorne sneaks off, best friend is not needed in this scene.

Meg is in the front room, eating large pretzels and watching _Bridget Jones’s Diary._ Her friend Charles is with her. Lorne does not care for this development.

“How about team, she chooses no one, becomes a famous journalist, and wins all the life points,” Meg says to him.

“Boo. Becomes a madame and has all the sex.”

“She did say she was a wonton sex goddess,”

“Ah!” They both cheer and laugh.

* * *

Little Lorne is still shaking. RC is stable. He falls asleep, but Lorne cannot. He can still hear his mother’s screams.

Meg gently knocks on the door; she comes in and sits down on the edge of the bed. She takes Lorne’s hand and squeezes.

“Do you want to hear about the princess who slays the dragon?”

Lorne nods.

“Fair warning, I am not good at the voices,” she clears her throat.

” So, our story begins in a magical dark Opera House,”

Lorne gets lost into her words; he moves closer to her radiance.

He eventually closes his eyes, no longer able to keep his head up or eyes open.

Meg helps him under the covers, caresses his cheek gently and then kisses the top of the head,

“Goodnight, it’ll be better in the morning,”

He believes her, he closes his eyes and she turns out the light.

* * *

The blinding white light fades away, Lorne touches his forehead, he turns back to her, she is still there.

He doesn’t not have much food, something he did not think to plan for, but he has some jerky and chips, he chops the jerky and pours some chips into a bowel, he walks over and sets the plate and bowl down in front of her.

She looks up, her eyes vacant, but she smiles, and that is all that matters.

* * *

Nadir shakes his phone as if he’s shaking RC. He’s got the address. Erik casually walks in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?”

He turns his head, “ Meg,” he says and then looks forward.

“The warehouse is the other way!”

“If you want to go there, I won’t stop you, but Meg is this way,” Erik does not look back and his emotions are disturbingly stoic to Nadir.

“How’d you know she’s this way?” Nadir jogs up to him to be at his pace.

“I always know where she is.” He says matter of-factly.

“What? Did you insert a chip into her neck?” Nadir half jokes,

“I’ll always know where she is, same with you.” Nadir does not find that comforting.

“What does that mean?”

“I cannot put it more plainly,”

“That’s a conversation to elaborate on later.”

“If you like,” Erik shrugs.

They walk for several blocks and several minutes. The come across what appears to be a boarded-up house on the corner of an abandoned lot.

“Cute.” Erik scoffs, he walks forward, a hop and skip to his step.

Nadir follows, his legs not as long and he has to work to keep up with him.

“Honey, I’m home,” Erik sings, he looks around, he takes notice of the trail of candles. Nadir is reminded of a serial killer’s family hunting cabin.

“Those are not mannequins,” Nadir says, more work for him to file, and to add to the case.

“It’s like he knows me,” Erik says amused and he shakes his head.

“Wrong woman though,” Nadir says,

“True,” Erik laughs.

“Promise me you won’t do this to Christine,”

“Promises, promises, you ask too much,” Erik stops at the shrine. He turns his head and tilts it.

“When did he take pictures of her sleeping?” Erik taps the picture.

“Say, I will not do this to do Christine,” Nadir presses.

“I will make a better shrine, “Erik takes the picture.

“No, that’s not the point.” Nadir sighs.

The walk further in, they find Meg is at the table. Erik looks around, too easy, too good.

Nadir rushes over to her, he checks on her, for bruises, any kind of mark or distress.

She looks up, her eyes empty, vacant, she tilts her head.

“Meg?” She does not recognize him. He helps her out of the chair, she looks down at him. She points beyond him.

Nadir turns, still holding onto Meg, Lorne is in the corner.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he says. She nods, she looks around the room.

“What did you do to her?” Nadir waves his free hand in front of her face.

“Nothing.”

“You’re the kiddo’s friend,” Erik muses. He never paid much attention to Lorne, even through the years.

He nods.

“I love her,” he says. He feels brave.

“This is kidnapping, and murder,” Nadir hates having to arrest kids.

“She’s alive,” Lorne points out.

“The others aren’t.”

“Ah. No.”

“Hm, you want to be with her forever?” Erik asks, he looks at Meg, she looks through him. Lorne nods.

“Erik,” Nadir does not like where this is going. Erik holds something out to him, Lorne walks froward, and takes it, he looks at Erik, who nods.

“Erik, what,” Erik grabs Nadir, pulls him, pushes him with such a force he is thrown backwards into the wall.

The last thing he sees is Meg falling to the ground and Lorne stabs his throat with a knife.

Erik calmly sits down, pulls Meg onto his lap, he looks at Lorne dying form.

“Thank you, I hate killing her.” He runs his hands through her hair, after a few minutes, her eyes pop open and she sits up.

She looks around and then to Lorne, she covers her mouth with her hand in horror.

“Shhh,” Erik pulls her back into his embrace, and rests his chin on her head,” it’s going to okay,”

Her body shakes, he holds her tighter.

“How’s your head?” He lifts his, and then kisses her temple.

“My head?”

“Are we whole again?” He gently holds onto her chin, and tilts her head, so he can take her in, he looks at her eyes.

Meg is home.

She nods.

“All accounted for.”

“Good. I promised you I’ll always put you back together,” He rests his masked cheek into her.

She nods, she feels cold. She fears his touch and being alone with him.

“I know.”

“We have a few minutes before Nadir wakes up,” Erik runs his fingertips down her arm.

“I want a bath,” Meg says, and he sighs, he nods. He helps her stand.

“Take me home?”

He takes off his suit jacket, wraps it around her shoulders and takes her home.

“What are we going to tell RC about, Lorne?” Meg asks.

“Who?” Erik isn’t paying attention; he leads her through the dark.

Meg closes her eyes.

The end of one nightmare, begins another.


	26. Let Go All You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> snoopy dance  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tTF4gN6XhF0

* * *

* * *

****

****

**_1933_ **

“It’s an operetta.” Charles says. He is not so sure about this. He is read it several times through, gone over the music with the band and they agree it is a bit unusual, poetic, and pretty, obviously, but a little odd. Fairy tale.

“It is.” Meg is dreaming somewhere, and he snaps his fingers to bring her back home.

“About trees.”

“Trees falling in love and the tragedy that comes with it. It is about lovers separated, and how they endure. It’s a good story!” Meg is getting into it.

When Meg gets into something, she starts to move like a wind-up toy or one of those dancing ballerina’s on top of a music box.

“With trees as the main characters.” Charles shuffles the papers in his hands, he is not that much into poetry.

He likes his art to be physical, like buildings, or drawings, a pretty picture, an ugly picture so ugly and terrible, therein lies the beauty of it.

“If Shakespeare wrote this, it would be brilliant.” She stops in front of him, looks up, he’s taller than her, she looks up, everyone is taller than her, must be hard, he often wonders if there is any kind of pain from having to always look up at the men.

“Okay. Fair point.” He drops the papers; Meg frowns and starts to collect them.

“This could be Eric with a C’s masterwork. We really need to get the boys in the band to care, the dancers have to remember their shoes for this.” She tries to put the music in order.

“You want Christine to sing this.”

“If she’s—”

“Ask her, she’ll do it. I don’t think she can say no to you.”

“Maybe we should change the name.”

Charles searches his pockets in vain for cigarettes. Sorelli hates the smell of smoke, she always throws them away. It reminds her of Philippe, he loved to smoke, and they would do it together, after a performance, he’d take her out, they’d smoke, drink, and then—Sorelli hates the smell of smoke of Charles.

“Tree pretty. I like it. Simple.”

“We’ll need to be serious with the makeup. The costume, not so sure.” Charles searches the desk, he must have a spare pack somewhere.

“That’s what our costume team is for. They’ll come up with something wicked and wonderful.”

Meg goes to the wall, lifts a picture, pulls off a piece of wall, digs her hand through it, pulls something out, throws it to Charles, a dusty, squashed, crushed, pack of ciggys.

“Thank you.”

“I’m good at finding things.”

==

* * *

**_2016_ **

It only takes less than a second for things to change. Meg looks down into the cart, like for instance, coffee. She knows the brand she put into the cart is not what is there now. And ice cream, she didn’t put that there either.

Ice cream is where it is at, that’s how Meg sees it, thank you very much. She exhales, and continues to push the cart down the aisle, now what does she want to have for dinner, for the next week or so.

When you are the only in the house that actually eats the food, shopping is easier. Well, there’s Lorne when he is over, he eats. He eats a lot come to think of it. Meg chuckles lightly, does not even say hello or ask at this point, he enters the penthouse, goes straight to the fridge.

“What are you like,” Meg opens the freezer and takes out a few healthy microwave meals. She puts them in the cart, oh here we go, chips mysteriously added.

She should really sow bells on those two. RC and Lorne return.

“Are we done here?” RC asks, it’s not as if he has any pressing matters of court to attend to. Lorne has nothing going on either. They didn’t even have to come, they chose to.

“You have the patience of a teaspoon.” Meg says. She picks up the coffee.

“What’s this? Aren’t we on intense vocal training? I didn’t think it would include coffee.”

“I’m French, I can handle it.” He takes it from her and drops it back into the cart.

“Says the New Yorker.” Lorne loves to tease him about his accent and lack of anything that screams, French. Other than, the parents, and blood.

“French-American, then.”

“Stress on American.” Lorne throws more ice cream into the cart.

“And who is paying for all of this?” Meg looks around in mock confusion.

“Papa, obviously.” RC scoffs.

“I don’t see him,” Meg rolls up her shopping list and uses it to look yonder.

“Nope, I do not see him.” She turns to RC and shrugs.

“Mother.”

“I only buy what’s on my list. Lists are good.” Meg is about to remove certain items.

“If I don’t eat ice cream, I'll eat my feelings, and my feelings don’t taste so good, not like ice cream.” Lorne pouts.

The crying little boy in the dark room pokes her heart and plays with her strings like an expert marionette. Meg smiles. She lets it go.

“Ice cream does taste better.”

“This coffee is better, Mother. Trust me.”

“Fine, fine. Fish tacos for Taco Tuesdays.”

Lorne and RC make faces and groan, they are not fish people. Not even if Meg is the chef, and Meg has developed mad cheffing skills over her long tenure of living. She is the best domestic among the group.

Raoul sometimes even pops by to eat her food, Christine is more of, let’s order/eat out woman, and with reason. She burns water.

“Oh, come on, we’ll get some halibut, cilantro, pineapple salsa. You never lived so well.” Meg is already down the fish section.

“Fish is the worst.” RC moans, he sounds like the teenaged boy he should be, instead of sounding like he is 500 million older, like most days. Meg loves when he sounds like petulant child, but as a parent, she will never say this.

Having a son who with an older affect is so disturbing and disheartening. She gets sad somber shivers, but that is what happens when you raise a boy with a monster.

“Cheer up, buttercup, you don’t have to eat it.” Meg finds what’s looking for and places it in the cart.

“Yeah, you can drink coffee and sulk.” Lorne says.

“Filter feed on the air, we can’t afford the purifier,” Meg says, she returns to her list.

“You’re funny, both of you.” RC pouts angrily.

“Now if the both of you promise me to be good, you each can pick out a snack pack.”

They are about to set off.

“Uh, uh, uh. You’re going to help me load and unload.” They turn and nod.

“And now you know what you have to do. Dance for Mom.” She waits.

RC groans, but Lorne starts to hop and does his best Snoopy Dance, RC moves his arms but is entirely stiff.

“Oh, come on, RC, Try.” Lorne is getting into it. RC moves his hips, but he still is not comfortable, Meg sighs.

“Good enough, next time I’ll make you sing!” Meg calls out as they run off.

“No!” RC says as if that is the worst fate ever, singing for a treat in the middle of a supermarket.

\--

* * *

**_Now_ **

If the lights are on, then it’s okay. The lights are on, it’s not dark, it’s not foreboding. There is light, light is good, light is welcoming. Light is not dark.

The lights are on, so that means it’s fine. Meg turns over and buries her head into the pillows.

The lamps on either side of the bed are turned on, the light overhead is on, she’s got the television on, so she’s not completely cutting off from the world, not really.

She is fine.

Everything is fine.

She does not need help to lift her head, she’s just overtired from sleeping for three days, that’s all. Really. She just has trouble getting out of bed, because she bought two weighted blankets, because her RLS is just insane the weight of it, is what’s keeping under covers.

She’s fine.

She turns over onto her back and stares at the ceiling. How long does it take to paint on a ceiling, and does it get weird, awkward? What about vertigo? Is there ever any vertigo? How can you avoid that? What about using the bathroom? Use a bucket, so you do not have to go down?

Meg closes her eyes. The walls are closing in. She turns again and she tries to not to think. She can smell the fire from the wick and the candles.

She wants to scream. She brings the covers to her mouth and bites them instead.

Of all the stupid, silly things, a bed is going to defeat her. She wants to get up, to get out of the room, to leave this apartment, but she can’t.

Nothing is keeping her in bed, No chains, ropes, binds, but she just cannot swing her leg over, or sit up.

Everything is fine, she’s just being a silly stupid child. She can do it. She turns over again, and she can see the window, the blinds are closed, and she can see the faintest of sunlight.

She can do it. She can lift her head, sit up and get out. There is a whole world out there.

She is fine.

Everything is fine.

She looks at the clock.

It’s after 4.

A little late in the day.

Maybe she should start early tomorrow. She closes her eyes, and squeezes her eyes tightly, trying to stop the tears, but they burn, they sting, they demand release, she tries to be silent as they fall, she soaks them up with her sheet balled up in her hands.

Tomorrow.

She will get out of bed tomorrow.

\--

* * *

“Let’s try this one more time, Khan. What happened? Why were you alone.” Hadley is across from Nadir and she is trying her best not to strangle him.

“I got a call, I went to the location and found them. I didn’t think about contacting you, I was in the moment.”

“In the moment. You were knocked out.”

“As you love to point out.” He says bitterly.

“Funny, how we found no defensive wounds on Drexler.”

“I didn’t have time to fight him, I was knocked out, remember?” Nadir points to his bandaged head.

“I don’t believe he was alone. He had someone with him.” Hadley sits down in the chair and tries to get her serious face on.

“I already told you everything.” Nadir sighs,

“I don’t believe it’s everything. I know you. I know what you’re capable of. Some stupid kid cannot take you out, Khan. You are well fit. An athlete, someone strong, had to be there. So, who are you protecting, and why?”

“I told you what happened.”

“Stop.”

He lowers his head, he hates lying to her, but he has to. He has to. Hadley stands up and walks over to him, kneels next to him, pleading, grabs him.

“Why can’t you tell me, what really happened?”

“Complicated.” She forces him to look at her.

“Complicated how?” Her voice firm, but on the edge of breaking. He tries to break away, but she will not let him.

“Complicated how.” She repeats, she adds pressure to her hold, she needs his honesty.

“He called. His mother. They had his mother.”

“His mother? Who’s mother?” Hadley doesn’t usually miss details, she feels some kind of panic, she must have overlooked something.

“The names, you’ve seen the names.”

“Names?”

Nadir scoffs.

“Think about it, who else would I want to protect?”

She closes her eyes, tries to think of the files, and names, victims, the killer, the latest victim, what was her name.

“Coffee?” He asks. She nods. He shakes his head.

“Coffee.” He says pointedly. She sits back down.

“The intern?”

“His mother, he called.”

“Oh, fuck me.”

Her heart fell out of her body.

“He got too involved, if the captain found out,” Nadir says, he trails off, he does not need to finish.

“Or how close you two are.” She says.

“I was alone, I had a bad night, I should have called you, my bad, now I learned. Never again.”

Hadley pulls at her clothing; she nods as she stands up.

“You were alone, kid got a lucky break.”

“Yeah. Berry and Thom will love this, you should tell them.”

“Fuck! Khan, why did you let him come with you!” She wants to pull her hair out and scream.

“It was his **_mother_** , his **_best friend._** I couldn’t keep him away if I had him cuffed to something.”

“Fuck!”

Hadley kicks at a chair and considers picking it up and throwing it. She shakes, jumps up and tries to calm herself.

“The case is closed. He’ll be sent to a nice institution for the rest of his life."  
Nadir half laughs.

“Right.”

“Next case, hello, my name is Detective Khan, and this is my partner Hadley.” Nadir holds out his hand and shakes an invisible hand.

Hadley walks back to the table and picks up her file.

“We’ve got work to do.” She sighs and he nods. He stands up and stretches.

“No rest for the wicked,”

“If they had, we’d have no job.”

Hadley and Nadir leave the room and join the rest of their world.

\--

* * *

RC does the only thing he know that will definitely get his father’s attention, sing off key, pitchy, out time, and just do everything possibly wrong.

And it worked.

“I need you to fix this.” He points with both hands behind Erik.

“Well this, is wrong.” He says pointing at RC.

“Use the voodoo that you do, but for good, to fix it!”

“Okay, first your scales—”

“Not me! Her! Make her come to you like she’s under your thrall, sing for her, do something to get her out of bed, so she wakes up!” RC again, points aggressive behind Erik.

“I’m not responsible for that. If she wants to get out of bed, that’s on her.” Erik turns to leave, but RC throws a book at him.

“Do something! This is entirely your fault!” He picks up more objects and throws them at Erik. Erik could attack him for the great slight, but since this is his only son, and he is rather fond of the boy, he lets his anger and object throwing slide, in fact he lets him finish.

“Do you feel better now?” He asks stoically. RC shakes his head.

“Why don’t you care?” He is crying now. Erik watches him like a curious cat. He let him grieve.

“I care, but it’s not my responsibility to do anything for her or about this. She chooses her actions.” He turns and leaves the room. RC screams before settling on the couch, overwrought with emotion.

\--

* * *

The lights to the bedroom are on, the television is on and Meg is not watching, she’s turned on her side staring into nothing. Erik sits down on the bed where there is empty space.

“Do you want to do something?” He knows the answer.

She says nothing at first. Eventually she turns over, to face him. She looks at the TV and then to him.

“We could watch scary movies.”

“We could go out.”

“Out.”

He nods.

“It might rain,” Meg says, her voice uneven.

“You like being caught in the rain, gives you an excuse to sing that damnable song.” He tugs at her blanket.

“I’ll catch a cold and I hate colds.”

“You’ll live.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Meg nods.

He moves to the clock, adjusts the time to 12. He throws the blankets back and pulls her out of bed and onto her feet.

“It’s tomorrow.”

He forces her to walk with him, grabs a coat, puts it on her as they walk.

\--

* * *

**_2006 Halloween_ **

“It’s easy. How many Halloween’s have you celebrated? You take our little guy, go around to different doors, he says the magical phrase, gets candy, and after about two hours or so of gathering, you come back, we sort the hoard, put the tyke to bed and then we have our own trick and treating,” Meg ends with a dorky pose and smile.

She added temporary dye to her hair and chalk to make it gray, she is a _spirit_! She’s dressed like a tweed lady about to hit the greens, but she added some fun gore to the face, her husband split her head open, but wait til you see him, old boy!

She added red dye to stain the white dress shirt, the broach is cracked, and she has a broken heel, she used it to kill the husband, had to, god forgive her.

Erik is wearing his usual tuxedo, as it is after 5 PM.

He’s never cared for Halloween. He has never understood the human interest. Well, more so the American interest. Each year, American’s love it more, and it gets weirder.

Meg, walking awkwardly, broken heel, other not, heads to the kitchen. She waves Erik over, after a minute of resisting he follows, and takes the flyer.

“This is the map. Hit all the spots.” He puts it down. He really has no interest in this.

He knows what he rather do, she knows what he rather do, **_her_**. High, at a party thrown by proper hosts in the city, sans children and responsibility.

What they did every year before Reza Charles. Do not get it wrong, he loves the boy, but the kiddo does make attending drug fueled orgies, or **_any_** of the parties Erik gets invited to, a bit more difficult.

Meg will not go if RC does not have a proper babysitter, and sometimes Erik wants Nadir, their first-choice sitter, to be there, so, gotta find a trustworthy teenager. Harder to come by these days.

Alas.

And now, each Halloween, instead of drug fueled orgies, he has to take his little one around the penthouse and the neighborhood, so he can collect candy, **_candy_**! Not cocaine, or bennies, or anything that’s good—it is maddening!

He needs extra Morphine just to get through this night! He has codeine around somewhere. Meg made a good point that he needs to lock away his treats, so RC does not get a hold of them. The issue is that Erik does not always remember the hiding spots.

“Erik!” Meg claps her hands and then snaps to get his attention back.

“Hm?”

“He’s ready! Hang on, I’ll get a picture. My O.G and Dino!”

RC wanted to be a dinosaur. Meg agreed, so she made him a prop: a bloody chicken leg stump, and dyed the mouth of his costume, so he looked like a proper apex predator.

Erik is just dressed like he would normally dress. His basic white full faced porcelain mask, his tuxedo.

“Where is your bedazzled cape! Go full Opera Ghost. Where is it?” Meg runs to their bedroom, singing nonsense songs about ghosts haunting opera houses. RC shows off his prop to his Papa, he nods in approval.

Meg comes back, holding the black cape that has the shinnies she keeps going on about as she giggles madly. She tries to put it on Erik, but him being 6’7 to her 5’2, makes it a tad difficult. He simply takes it after the third failure and puts it on himself.

“Perfect! Stay right there!”

Meg takes out her phone. She takes several pictures.

“Beautiful!”

She runs to the door, almost falls, broken heel, gotta keep to the character, opens the door. RC runs out, Erik, not into it, walks purposefully slow. He pauses at Meg.

“Clara thinks I abuse you; this is just giving her fuel.” He pokes at her makeup.

“Clara? The old lady upstairs? She is half blind. Plus, I thought you were going to,” Meg changes her voice,” _to stop caring about what the humans think.”_

He grabs her jaw and tilts his head.

“Was that supposed to be me?” Despite the situation, she pokes her tongue out.

“Papa, can we go now!” Cries the tiny dino. Erik releases Meg. She pushes him out the door or tries to. He leaves on his own accord.

\--

* * *

Erik looks at the map, and then to the tiny dinosaur. He’ll earn sex points if he does the full route, and going the full route of the map, could potentially tire out the tyke, which means, as soon as they get home, he’ll be asleep, so he and Meg can get up to what they want to without having to appease the boy.

Yes, he will follow the map to the end. He can do that. He motions for the small dinosaur to follow him and they set off on their journey of candy.

Erik taps the door and stays back enough so his dinosaur gets the attention, it opens, the overly kind woman answers.

“Oooh my, what is this?” Her voice is shrill, Erik is sure if he were weaker, his ears would bleed. He clenches his jaw to remain silent. His son shakes the bloody prop.

“Rawr. I’m a dinosaur.” He holds out the bag, to secure his candy. She drops a few pieces into the bag.

“Aren’t we scary!” She puts her hand up over her eyes and bends back, feigning fright.

RC rawrs again before he leaves for the next door.

Erik does the same, taps the door, stays back, the kid does his thing, several times.

Finally, they do all the doors on the map for the penthouse, and now it’s outside for the houses along the block. They live in a fairly ritzy place, so it’s safe to be out at night.

Tap, tap, tap at the door. Erik is bored, he leans against the space next to the door, small dinosaur holds out his bag, the door opens.

“Erik?”

Erik blinks.

“Christine?”

“Erik?” Raoul comes to the door. Raoul has name tag that says. ‘Ghost,’ and Christine is wearing a green velvet dress. She is holding a broom.

“Oh, you’re trick or treating. Raoul, the candy.” He hands her plastic cauldron; she drops some candy into RC’s bag. Erik moves the kiddo out of the way.

“You moved.” He wants to grab Christine, and she’s half ready for him to take her to a dark corner. Raoul puts his hand on her shoulder. She exhales sharply and touches his hand. Raoul glares at Erik.

“ ** _We_** moved.” Raoul says. He is not going away. Christine and Erik are silent. Erik wants to reach out, he is about to raise his hand to her, to touch her, RC pulls the fabric of his coat.

“More houses.” He says. The spell is broken. Christine smiles and she closes the door.

“Right, more houses.”

\--

* * *

The night is over, the route completed. RC is tucked into bed, he demanded he get to sleep in his costume, he is allowed this.

Meg and Erik check what goods were brought home, since Erik did his good fatherly duty, now it's time for Meg and her sexy duty.

“So, I have a special treat for you, that I’ve hidden somewhere on my body. See if you can find it.” Meg runs down the hall, and he gets up to chase and capture her.

He tackles her before she makes it to the bed.

“It’ll require a **_thorough_** search, I’m sure.” He breathes in her scent as he pins her to the floor.

“Happy Halloween.”

\--

* * *

**_Now_ **

Erik stops in front a building. No. A house. The windows are broken, the lot is overgrown with weeds and grass, and flowers. It’s half used as a trash lot. Broken beer bottles, ripped leather shoes, the left shoe only, and aged bits of paper.

There is no love or care here, Not anymore.

“This is the haunted house they talk about. It’s not really haunted is it?” She’s not sure why he took her here of all places, she misses the safety of the bed. She doesn’t want to be around him right now if she’s honest with herself.

“It’s unloved, not haunted. I've wanted to take you here for a long time now. This is something you would want to explore. We’re exploring it.” He leads her along the path. He opens the gates, lets her through like the gentleman he is not.

“Unloved,” Meg says. Unloved. The house is unloved, why would it let her through? Kinship?

“Sad places and things remind me of you. If you were a house, this would be you.” He says, he opens the door, and lets her through.

She looks around, the only light is through the windows from the sun. The wood is damaged and creaks and squeaks. The stairs are impossible to climb, they are no more. Meg would have loved to have gone up stairs.

“It is beautiful in its own way. Imagine the love that was once here. Mona’s in the kitchen baking fruit pies and the kids are in the back garden, climbing the cherry tree, they had to take it down, poor thing got sick.”

Erik leads her beyond the kitchen to where the dinning room once had life. There is a picnic waiting for them.

“Did you plan this?” Erik says nothing. They sit down. She looks around.

“When we first met, I was sick.” He says, he does not look at her. Meg laughs.

“I heard such awful noises, screams. I thought a banshee was being murdered. I had no choice but to follow the shrieking.” Meg closes her eyes and remembers.

She followed the noises through the dark tunnels. She had no light to guide her, to help her see, but she knew the path, somehow, she knew where to go.

“I don’t remember that part.” Erik plays with the fabric of the cloth they are sitting on.

“I came to your side, I took your hand,” she takes his hand,” and I tried to soothe you,” she remembers, so does he.

“I asked you your name.” She touched his face, or rather, his mask, she asked his name, tried to get him to breathe, to calm. She can see it clearly in her mind, a silent film repeating.

“I remember that.”

He could not answer her then, he fell asleep, he needed to heal. So much pain. He remembers. Stupid humans. Stupid Jules.

“You stopped moving, stopped screaming. I could not move you to the bed. I grabbed a blanket, candles, and basin for water. I came by everyday to check on you.”

He nods.

“I’ll never understand why you would do that. I was a stranger, and you cared for me.”

“You are a person, of course I cared for you, I had to, I’m human, it’s what we do.”

Erik disagrees and he shakes his head, he can feel the bitter, the poison rise.

“No.”

“You haven’t met all of humanity, my love. There are more Nadirs and Christines out there than you know.” Meg boops his mask. He holds her hand.

“I’ve only met one of **_your_ **kind.”

“I’m not special.”

“That’s why I wanted you.” He holds her hand to his mask, to trace his finger across his china face.

“Because I wasn’t special?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ve never known anyone like you before. Even Christine, I have met shades like her, but you? No.”

Meg laughs again. She does not believe it.

“When they tell your story, the glory will lie with you and Christine. Raoul will pop up, obviously.”

“You’re not meant for this world; they don’t deserve you. I’ve walked this world, among men, gods, heretics, demons, and no one, none of them, have ever been like you.”

“Okay, flattering Phantom, what’s your point.” Meg leans forward, her chin resting on her palms, elbows on knees.

He leans forward.

“Look at your hand, you soft headed fool.” He tilts his head, turns it to the side. Meg blinks, she looks at her hand. Her body explodes goosebumps. Her ring finger, left hand, a ring that was not there before.

“Not until your spider’s game finished right?” She does not remember when the first tear fell, but she can taste the salt of the others. He takes both of her hands.

“I promise, it will be worth it.”

“I waited 140 years, what’s another?”

“When it finally happens, you’ll have to be away from your bed.”

“Oh, damn, can’t do it.” Meg wipes her eyes.

“You’re upset, I know despair. I see it in you. I know what it is like to die alive. It’s hard to lift your head up on your own, isn’t it?”

She nods, wipes her eyes again, she is sure her nose is gross, she wipes it with her sleeve and regrets that he can see her.

“You’ll live through this.” He grabs onto her hands again, and squeezes.

“You’ll live through this.” He repeats, sweeter, gentler, she can feel herself start to believe. He pulls her into a tight embrace.

She lets go of her sorrow, her pain, her anguish, and pain. He does not let go of her, and she feels lighter.


	27. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?

**1933, Halloween**

Christine, Raoul, Meg, Sorelli, Charles and Erik are gathered around a small table in a tent. It’s one that’s used for temporary hosing when the dorms are full.

“Okay, so this shit seems to be popular, why not. Let’s call on some ghost,” Charles has a book in front of him. Sorelli leans over to read.

“They wrote a handbook. Seriously?” He holds it up, out in front of him. Sorelli considers taking it from him.

“Apparently. I’m going to assume Raoul and Sorelli want Philippe, I wish I could contact my dog. Ooh, Carver, I miss your stupid, stupid face,” Charles laments.

“You realize, none of this is real? Usually someone just shakes the table.” Raoul demonstrates this by shaking the table.

“How dare you say that in the presence of our Opera Ghost.” Meg says jerking her head in Erik’s direction.

“Don’t mock me.”

Sorelli has a bad feeling about all of this. She was raised a good Catholic girl and for the most part she did her best, well until she become 18. Then she cannot be blamed for what after, not really.

“Your dog is the first thing the comes to mind? Not your wife, son? Daughter?” Erik finds that most interesting. He rests his chin on hands that are propped up on his elbows that he has on the table. He watches the others, they are quite for the most part.

“I’m Catholic-ish. Dead humans? Iffy. Dogs? That should be fair game, right?” Charles thinks the area is gray enough.

“Is it?” Erik asks, he taps fingers against his hand. He’s waiting for them to ask.

“Do we need candles?” Christine feels like there should be candles and sage or something herbal burning.

“Candles.” Charles flips through the book.

“You didn’t prepare, babe?” Sorelli tries to read over his shoulder.

“What the fuck is a spirit candle?” He tries to make sense of the words, and what is written.

“Are you sure this book is right? It’s not jest?” Christine looks around, she now feels as if someone is going to pop out and arrest them.

“Spirit candle?” Erik repeats.

“That’s what this shit says.” Charles groans.

“Is that what my mother used to call you?” Meg asks, she leans into Erik and he waves his hand and shakes his head.

“What was that?” Charles looks over, his hand is saved on a certain spot of a paragraph, not that it matters. Everything reads like nonsense.

“Nothing.” Erik flicks his fingers at Charles. The others sit around in awkward silence.

Charles exhales and throws the book across the tent and turns to his friend.

“Fine, Mr. Gypsy, what should we be doing?”

“What is it that you want?” Erik asks sweetly.

“My dog.”

Erik laughs in the negative.

“No. Can’t do that, doesn’t work, not a thing, dear.”

Charles curses and he is out.

“Then, I’m good, anyone else?”

Christine raises her hand and half regrets it; Raoul holds onto her hand.

“Christine, no.” He says gently, softly.

“What would you like?” Erik ignores Raoul. He knows the answer, but he wants her to say it.

“My father.”

“Do you have anything of his?”

“I didn’t know we were doing this,” she shakes her head.

“Does anyone have a personal item for the person they want to speak to, should be the question,” Charles says. He looks around the room, and most do not.

Meg removes something from her hair. She throws it on the table, a dragonfly hairpiece.

“My mother’s.”

“You had a negative relationship in the end. I don’t think you want to do this,” Erik says.

“You think she’ll be a bitchy ghost?” Meg asks, trying to play it off.

“I think that would be something we could do in private.”

Meg frowns and picks up the pin and puts it back into her hair.

“This is a bust.” Charles stands and leaves the tent, and soon, one by one the others follow, leaving only Meg and Erik. She takes the pin and places it on the table.

“Well?”

He slides the pin in front of him, he puts his hand into his jacket’s pocket, takes out a small knife, he takes a lock of Meg’s hair, cuts it, and then takes her hand, slices it open, drops some blood onto the pin, wraps it with her cut hair, then it sets itself seemingly on fire.

Meg nearly jumps out of her seat.

“If she’s receptive, we’ll know.” He says quietly.

\--

* * *

**Now**

Meg and Erik take a long stroll back home. It is a clear night, and the stars shine brightly, the air is cool, not cold or bitter.

“What are you going to do for Halloween this year? Party crawl?”

“Something like that.”

“Plenty of haunted places to play around in.” Meg says.

“Allegedly haunted, not truly.” He corrects.

“That’s something we could do. A haunted house scavenger hunt. Or something like it. Pick different houses that are supposed to be haunted and see what happens.” Meg starts to hop over cracks in the cement of the sidewalk, already growing bored and restless.

“That’s sounds tiresome and dull.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Meg steps away and swings around on lamppost,” not if we bring our own bag of tricks and treats,” she swings around again, and he catches her by the waist.

“That could be entertaining.”

“Hey, have you ever _licked a lamppost_ in winter?” Meg asks seductively as one can considering the asinine question.

“I’ve licked my fair share,” He says darkly, his eyes spark electricity.

“Oh, your poor tongue! Must have been painful, did it ever get stuck to the post?”

To prevent further foolishness from her mouth, he silences hers with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WjX1m4sxTk  
> Reference.


	28. Show Piece VS Private Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One is the prized show piece, the other is the pride of the private collection.

* * *

**2008**

RC has been quiet all day. He’s been distant and each time one of his parents tries to approach him, ask him about his behavior he runs off and hides. He then comes out from hiding, sneaky sneaks on one of them, and when they notice his presence, he flees.

Erik is on his last nerve with this. He catches the boy before he can flee. RC kicks his legs in the air and tries wiggle free, it is no use. He pouts and accepts his fate.

“Is this a new game?”

\--

* * *

If you know Erik, then you know Christine. She is an angel of music, heaven sent, and you will not forget it. She is a vison of purity, beauty, and grace. She is elegant. The seas part for her, kings will raise an army to fight for her love and honor.

Christine is precious. She is shown off proudly, she is the prize piece of the collection. Christine’s voice will bring the stone to life. She will heal you.

“So, this is Christine? You do not do her credit,” Christine smiles, and bows her head shyly, she is demure, she is modest. As she is navigated throughout the room, others fall to her.

Sometimes there is a hitch. A wrench that is thrown into the gears of the clocktower.

“I’d like to speak with you about that blonde, the one from the sketches. I **_need_** her details; I want her for piece of work. I’d love to draw her myself.” 

In those moments Christine takes a step back and keeps quiet, even more so. She drinks, and looks around the room, pretending she cares, trying to find some vague interest in anything.

“Marguerite isn’t a professional model.” Is Erik’s automatic response.

He moves on to the next stop and does not further engage in conversation. When Meg comes up, he shuts the conversation down before it can truly become one. He will talk until time stops about Christine, but Meg is off limits. For someone to know her, it is rare and unwanted.

“Why don’t you ever talk about Meg?” Christine asked once during their parade of the room.

“Some things are mine alone to enjoy.” Erik fixes Christine’s hair and adjusts her dress and they tour the room, and that is it. No more about Meg. Subject closed.

\--

* * *

When Meg attends galas and artful events, Charles and Raoul spend time with her. She stuffs her face with vittles and makes snarky comments and is the life of the party.

“Oooh, he don’t like you,” Meg bites her knuckles and laughs boorishly. She nods to a gentleman and then plots ways to annoy him the rest of the night for her friend's pride and honor. Meg will do just about anything for a friend and their wounded pride.

She ends up having a heel break, some of her locks come loose from her braided updo, and her lipstick smears from the vittles intaking and wine drinking.

Meg goes to an event to have a good time. She starts dance lines and party games. She ends up having a cult following about 45 minutes in.

Christine is too shy, too rigid, and afraid to do half of the things she wishes she could do. Christine cries inside herself 45 minutes in. She stays by Erik and holds onto him for life support.

\--

* * *

Erik ignores Meg because she does not appreciate the art and culture the way he feels she should. Instead of enjoying the culture himself, he spends most of the time watching her, judging her until he can no longer take it.

“This wine,” Meg swirls the wine in the glass, she has gathered a following this evening, several men and women are vying for her humor and mirth,

” this wine, you can really taste the summer leaves and just a hint of motor oil.” Meg smells the wine, before she sips it.

She nods in approval. She is **_French_** , she is an authority on wine, obviously. That is the logic the Americans have, and Meg is not rude, and she will let them think what they like.

Those who have gathered around her nod, and they mumble agreement and ask questions. Meg ignores them as she tries to classily finish her wine.

Erik storms by, grabs her arm, she half runs and finishes the wine as soon as she can, she drops the glass on a tray of a sever as they pass.

He presses the button for the lift, as soon as it opens, he throws her inside and grabs her hips as the doors close.

* * *

When Christine attends these affairs, she remains obediently at Erik’s side and speaks opinions that are correct. Her movements are calculated and manipulated by Erik. She is his favorite marionette. Meg’s strings came with too much slack, she is sloppy, thinks on her own and is defective.

Christine is the show piece and Meg is the star of the private collection.

\--

* * *

**February 2001**

**“** Why don’t you want to go?”

Erik has been invited to the kind of sordid sexual drug fueled art factory party he lives for and he declined the invitation without a beat. Meg doesn’t believe he wants to spend the evening quietly at home. Not when drugs and art are calling his name.

There is supposed to be an auction and Meg knows that an organ and piano are among the lot and Erik is still very much in love with the organ, so him to say no thanks?

No. Something isn’t right here.

“Lack the interest.” Erik picks up his sketch book and pen. He has been helping Jules with a few commissions and preliminary designs for clients for a small (still sizable, but small in Erik’s mind, he could always ask for more) fee.

“An organ is being auctioned. You love the organ more than you love Christine.” Meg tries to grab at the book, but Erik moves out of the way and bats her hand.

“I gave you my answer.”

Meg still doesn’t buy it.

“I want you to go. You’ve been in this weird funk, like you want to go back to your tomb ways. Go out there, get high and buy an organ!” Meg grabs at his shoulder and tries to get him off the couch.

“Where would I put it?” Erik looks around the room, his arms spread out, mockingly confused.

“One of the other million buildings you own.”

“There will be other parties,” He says dismissively. He goes back to the sketching.

“I’m sick of your face.” Meg pokes him. Erik looks up and at her. She sticks her tongue out and screws up her face.

“That’s you,” she says, she makes the face again, before going back to normal,” that’s how you make me feel. Get out there, slut it up. Fight Raoul. Do some Phantom Shit.” Meg pokes him with every word.

“You’re beautiful.” Erik says flatly. Meg takes the sketchbook from him and throws it behind the couch, Erik follows it with his eyes. Meg claps at him to get his attention.

“You’ve been all up in my shit for weeks now and I don’t know why. It’s not you. You like to wander, to get around, have fun. Hell, when you were the O.G. You didn’t stay at the Opera Populaire the entire time! You had adventures! Hell, you missed most of the productions anyway.”

Meg is exasperated and is really looking forward for a night alone. The baby is quiet most of the time, and Meg wants to unwind with wine, alone. By herself with a good stupid movie.

“Perhaps I have been, what’s the word?”

“Clingy.”

“You died. I didn’t care for it.”

Meg grabs his hands.

“Yes, and I’m sure that sucked for you, but I’m here and I’m alive and I’m telling you, I need you to go out, to go to that party, get stupid and buy an organ we have no place for.” She brings his gloved hands to her lips and looks at him pleadingly.

“Erik, I promise I will be alive when you get back.” Meg is serious. She sits up straighter and looks like the adult partner she pretends she is not.

“I’m sick of your face.” Erik admits.

“There we are then! Now you get out of here,” Meg extends her hand and motions to the door. Erik leans over and kisses her.

“Don’t wait for me.” He gets up from the couch and heads to their bedroom.

“Wasn’t going to.” Meg adjusts herself into a comfortable position and turns on the television.

\--

* * *

When Erik arrives, Charles grabs him and pulls into the party.

“Thank god, they’re not giving us the good shit unless you showed up. Where’s the blonde?” Charles looks around and behind, expecting Meg to show up and perform a wacky pose.

“She’s not coming, she’s at home. The baby.” Erik looks around the room, sizing up the potential prey.

“Oh right, you spawned.” Charles likes to forget certain facts.

“One way to put it.” Erik smiles behind his mask and starts forward, prey found.

\--

* * *

In the early hours of the morning Erik arrives home, a song in his heart and pouring from his lips. He has a skip to his step, he dances as he carefully undresses and puts his clothing away, he slips on his silk PJ’s and climbs into bed.

Meg sits up, still asleep before she lowers herself back down.

“Goodnight, sweet Persephone.” He kisses her temple before he moves into his preferred sleeping position. Meg mumbles something and taps his hand

\--

* * *

**2008**

“Mama.” RC manages to say while hanging upside down. Erik drops him to the floor.

“What about her?” Erik kneels to be at level with his little one. RC tries to avoid his Papa’s gaze, but Papa grabs his face.

“I don’t want her to go.” RC pouts, he’s on the verge of tears.

“She’s not going anywhere.” Erik could have said that in a sweeter tone, but he’s irritated and wants his boy’s nonsense to end.

“Lorne’s mama,” RC says, he can’t finish. Erik sighs.

“Lorne’s mama is a fool, your mama isn’t. I’m—she’s not. You never have to worry about her, your mama is always going to be around. She’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

Erik nods and the boy lunges forward into his arms.

“She promised me forever and she always keeps her word.”

* * *

**Now**

Despite their awkward situation Christine and Meg are best friends at the end of the day. They try to spend at least one weekend a month together. Meg booked a room at a nice hotel and brought a few bottles of wine and a cheese tray from the supermarket. Christine brought a tray of cakes.

They are on the bed, their legs covered in some new product that promises to remove hair painlessly. They like to test beauty products and the like.

“I have bad feeling about this,” Christine wants to wash the sticky goo off instead of using the strips. Meg leans over and rips the strip off her friend’s leg.

Christine scream and punches at her friend, The pain is sharp, loud. She is in tears. Christine reaches for her glass of wine and drinks it. Meg covers her mouth with her hands and laughs.

Christine glares and then rips off a strip from Meg leg, who also screams.

“Holy Christmas fuck!” Meg is in tears; she too needs some wine.

“Painless!” Christine knew that this was a bad idea.

“Why did I think this was a good idea!” Meg laughs as she cries. She wipes the tears from her eyes and then cries again, she has both of her legs covered with this painful lying goo.

“We can do this.”

They both nod.

They exhale. They both rip a strip from the other woman and both scream and cry out in pain.

“Being a woman sucks!”

"We are eating all of the cheesecake after this!"

"Oh, hell yes!"

They have a lot of stripping to do.


	29. Sunday's With Eric Roberts, an Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg likes to spend her Sunday with a certain Eric with a C.

* * *

The little things in life can make all the difference in your private universe. It could be something simple like reading your favorite passage from your favorite book, or watching a live zoo feed of your favorite animal, or it could be the Eric Roberts movie marathon on Lifetime Movie Network, while drinking fancy homemade coffee and eating your berry oatmeal.

“What’s the movie?” RC asks as he sits down on the sofa next to his mother. She’s getting excited with giddy geekery joy.

“Eric Roberts being a psycho.” Meg is practically salivating; her eyes are dilated like she has just taken a hit of some drug. RC casts a glance at his mother and then the TV.

“Right, and the movie?”

Meg hisses at him to be silent and waves her spoon at him.

“Sorry.” RC shakes his head and tries to follow the plot. Meg giggles and makes happy sounds.

“He’s psycho! Love it.” She swoons and sways back and forth on the sofa. She is entering her happy place.

“Is he her doctor? So much for do no harm.”

“Ooh, he does all the harm. Mmmm.” Meg sucks on the spoon and absorbs all of the cheese from the film.

“Why is he washing her? Is he giving her a sponge bath?”

“Yes!” The spoon drops from Meg mouth and she claps her hands.

“He **_is_** crazy.”

“I know! It’s beautiful.” Meg places both hands over her heart and her eyes flutter.

\--

* * *

“Cancer!” Meg shouts with glee. She digs her spoon into her ice cream.

“Curious,” RC counters, he’s content with breaking bits off his pretzel.

“Composer.”

“Composure.” RC says in a cool, collected manner.

Meg smiles and her eyes light up.

“Clever clogs!”

“Gum shoes.” RC clicks his tongue

“Gumby.” Meg waves her spoon.

“Grime.” RC points at her.

“Simpsons.” Meg eyes light up again.

“Max Power” RC says in a low voice.

Meg snaps her fingers and bounces in her seat; she is careful not to spill the ice cream.

“Karl Marx.”

“Markers.”

“Paint.”

“Colors.”

“Pencils.”

“Papers.”

“Sword.”

“Shakespeare.”

“Misogynist.”

“Man.”

“Squid.”

“Kraken.”

“Cthulhu.”

“Space Wizards.”

“Death.”

“Cake.”

“Pie.”

“Terrible.”

“Terry.”

\--

* * *

“This movie makes no sense. So, he is a contract killer? And how he is supposed to help the husband get the wife back?” RC pulls at his hair.

“He’s a terrible assassin. Like, if this is his job, you would think he’d actually, you know, take care.” Meg does not understand what’s going on with the plot either.

“And the art? That is not his? It was on the porch in the background, the art that Eric says wasn’t his.”

Meg slams her fist down on the pillow and squeals.

“You saw that too? What the hell? It was like, Eric, it’s right there! Dumbass!” Meg shakes both her hands in the air ruefully.

Upon hearing what he believes to be his name, Erik walks behind the sofa and waits for the reason.

“He’s not impressing me in this. He’s better crazy.” RC says. Meg nods.

“I don’t know why this is in the marathon, Eric is hardly in it. Lame.”

“Maybe he’ll do something psychotic later.”

“Better, I prefer my Eric crazy psycho. Remember, the sponge bath?” Meg closes her eyes and RC nods and leans forward, getting into the film.

“What is this?” Erik asks. Meg tilts her head up.

“Eric Roberts marathon. He crazy.” She smiles brightly, her eyes dilate again.

“And that is?”

“Eric Roberts.” RC says, pointing to the TV.

“It’s an all-day movie marathon.” Meg says, she turns her attention back to the TV.

“All day?”

Meg nods.

“Join us! He crazy.” Meg leans forward getting back into it. Erik leans into her, his mouth at her ear.

“There are other ways we can spend the day,” He runs his hand though her hair.

“Puzzling?”

Erik growls, he pulls her hair and bites her ear. Meg cries out in pain and slaps at him.

“Now? I’m doing a thing! You have a Christine for that, don’t you? I’m busy! Go Phantom with her. We can play when the movies are over.” Meg rubs her ear and moves away.

Erik ignores that, grabs her and flips her so she’s hung over his shoulder and strides to their bedroom.

“This is grounds for divorce.” Meg cries

“Not married yet.”

“Then we’ll get married right now and then I’ll divorce you!”

“No,” He says and then the door slams shut behind him.


	30. Thanksgiving It To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was going to be longer, but got distracted and busy. I could do an extended version if people like, let me know.

Thanksgiving is something Meg and the others have come to enjoy and look forward to each year now that they have lived long enough among Americans.

Meg is the domestic goddess, Hestia, Demeter, Persephone all live within her and she uses these gifts to cook and make festive, delicious meals. She also gets a little bit aggressive during the days leading up to it and the day of.

The kitchen is off limits, you do not go in the kitchen or ask Meg questions. You do not touch anything. You do not look at anything. If Meg tells you to do something, you do it. No questions. Just actions.

\--

* * *

“Where are the apples,” Meg asks, she is holding a mixing bowl, her blonde hair is up, she is a mess and covered in flour and dough. RC is eating a banana and he shrugs.

“The apples are for the pie.” Meg says her voice deadly calm.

“I don’t know.” Charles says, and he turns the volume on the TV louder. Sorelli covers her mouth with her hands and turns to face Meg.

“Your neighbor asked to borrow some, I thought, love thy neighbor. You know, it is the season.” Sorelli smiles and then bows her head in humility.

“The neighbor. Well, the neighbor is going to have a good fucking pie isn’t she? Because fuck this house! Now if anyone wants to get that Dutch Apple Pie, someone is going to have to go to the store and pray to all the damn gods that there is one seedling left, because I cannot do everything! Can one of you do this thing? Oh, can you?” Meg is on the verge of hysterics. She curtsies mockingly and goes back to the kitchen.

Nadir is used to being the hero, and the hero usually gets the first dibs on the sweets and Nadir loves Meg pies so he’s out the door before Meg finished her rant.

\--

* * *

The fire alarm goes off and Meg curses and there are several banging sounds, and everyone stares at each other. Meg banned everyone from the kitchen, but if she needs help, and then again, she did get ban hammer Thor on everyone.

“Mom, you good?” RC asks. There is more banging and cursing. The alarm finally ceases.

“I’ll be good when I’m **dead**!” She shouts and then the kitchen timers go off. RC and the others try to relax.

Nadir returns with a bag of apples he runs to the kitchen to show off his loot, Meg grabs the bag and pushes him out of the kitchen.

“Oh, the damn Muslim is the only one who has a heart and gives a shit life and happiness, praise the sultana,”

Nadir has a lot he could say about that, but Meg has access to a lot of sharp objects and hot objects. He smiles awkwardly and goes back to his seat on the sofa.

Meg will return to her sweet, playful, caring self, soon. Once the meal is done. Once the meal is done and the dishes are put away.

\--

* * *

Christine braves it and tries to help in the kitchen. She only ends confusing the timers with the wrong dishes and nearly burns the stuffing.

“Oh my god, why don’t you just go out and do Erik, because that’s clearly the only thing you’re good at!" Meg throws a spoon at Christine who ducks and runs.

Raoul consoles her as she cries.

\--

* * *

“What the hell is this?” Meg appears in front of the TV holding a can of cranberry sauce. She sends a glare at each of the men and women.

“That’s a can,” Sorelli says. Charles ssh’s her, trying to keep her protected from the Giry wrath.

“I asked for cranberries.” Meg hair tosses and her eyes are on fire.

“You did and that’s what that is.” RC says.

“Is it?” She turns her head to her son.

He’s not used to his mother’s ire and anger; RC is nervous and doesn’t know what to do. He looks to his father for an assist, a save, a way out. Papas protect Sons from angry Mamas. Erik is not one to shirk his fatherly duties and he steps up to bat.

“You can use the can, it’s fine,” Erik says. Meg makes a strange sound from the back of her throat and looks at the can.

“ **Can** I? Let’s see,” She throws it at his head. She laughs.

“Yes, I **can**! You’ve been **canned**!” Meg turns around and strides back to the kitchen.

No one says another word or makes any sudden movements. They all wait with bated breath. They are frozen in horror and they wait for Erik to make the first move. He picks up the can, turns it. He taps his head, no damage. His mask is still on, his wig is still in place, looking like his natural hair and looks good and well styled.

Erik turns the can. The sound is low, like a bass being plucked delicately and then it changes to a different tone and pitch. He’s laughing, he stands up, holding onto the can and laughing.

Everyone is still holding their breath and he walks around the sofa and out to the kitchen. Everyone turns their bodies and heads to the kitchen and they wait in anticipation and horror as to what comes next. Is this the straw the broke the camel's back? Has Meg Giry finally gone too far with her tricks and games, and Erik will finally end her run of the production?

They wait, they lean forward, and they turn their ears, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

No sounds of death.

Nadir is the brave one. He jumps over the sofa and cautiously walks to the kitchen, gets low and peers around the corner. He lets out the breath he's been holding.

Meg is chopping vegetables and Erik is making the cranberry sauce at the stove. We're good people! It's fine! Meg Giry is still amusing and her contract is not up yet! Fix those lights and remember your cues!

* * *

Meg is holding a very large glass of wine and joins the others. She sits down next to Erik and twirls the wine in her glass.

"I was getting really annoyed and hot, and then I remembered wine exists." Meg raises her glass and takes a generous sip. Once she finishes, Erik takes it and has his own generous take. Meg takes it back, she glares at him, and turns her head away.

"So, how is everyone out here? It feels so cool, like an ice box. Not like the hellfire in the kitchen. Why don't we have fan? God that was a stupid oversight." Meg shakes her head and takes another sip.

* * *

The meal is finally prepared and ready. Everyone picks up a plate and goes around the table and piles food and takes their seat. Meg watches everyone from the kitchen, casually sips her wine and waits. She eats last, the chef always eats last. Once the buffet line is done, Meg finds her place and sits down.

"I guess we could say what we're thankful for. I'll go. I'm thankful for the big strong men in my life who will put away all of this and do the dishes. And the genius who thought of wine. I love him. I want to meet him, marry him, bathe in him." Meg finishes her wine.

"Xanax." Sorelli says.

"Modern technology?" Charles shrugs.

"Covid-19 making it so I don't have to be around people, but you know, I'm no longer "antisocial," RC says.

"Ditto." Erik says.

"Oh! Eric," Meg sips her wine, Erik places his hand on the inside of her thigh," Roberts. Bless him. My favorite psycho."

Erik takes Meg's wine from her and finishes it, he hands her the empty the glass back.

"I'm thankful we're together," Jules says quietly.

"Hear, hear, **bestie** ," Nadir says as he leans into Jules. He'll let him have this one. Jules smiles brightly.

"Another year together, and no one killed each other! Progress! Remember when Raoul and Erik would fight each other on sight? Now look at them? Breaking bread together, not their bodies." Charles says as he stands up. Raoul shrugs and everyone raises a glass to that.

"Fuck you 2020, happy Thanksgiving it to you!" 

* * *

Meg passes out eventually from the stress of the day and wine. Erik carries her with great care to the bedroom, he tucks her in and turns out the light.

The others are arguing who is to clean the dishes and kitchen,

"This suit is too delicate! I cannot get it dirty!" Jules whines.

"Whoever does the dishes and cleans the kitchen will get a gift or wish, debt free." Erik says as he casually clean his gloves. Everyone runs into the kitchen and fights to clean it. Erik walks over to the sofa, he falls backwards and turns on the television and relaxes.

Works like a charm each year. Erik hasn't had to clean a damn dish for over 80 years. He folds his arms behind his head and smiles devilishly. He's the best puppeteer ever.


	31. Festive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tis the season. The holiday festivities begin for our favorite immortals.

* * *

* * *

**1986**

During Christmas Meg has a magical glow about her that Charles cannot resist. He is drawn to her like moths to light. He must be around her. It’s painful enough during the rest of the year. He has dreams about her. They can be innocent; he sings the song of his heart and she hums along.

Sometimes it’s midnight, he has no way of truly knowing the time, but in his bones he knows, it is midnight and they dance under the stars among empty streets as the moon protects them.

He paints pictures of her, hides them, destroys them because it hurts too much to look at. It was easier when he just had to deal with the angry, broken Sorelli. He gave her everything, he’d chase her all over, but one day Meg punched his heart with her smile.

It was a costume party. She had red, blue and green paint smeared on her eyes, her hair was up in all manner of directions.

“What are you supposed to be?” He asked. He could not take his eyes off of her. He kept going back to her. She poses.

“Imagination and inspiration.”

He had not expected that answer. He blinks several times. She hums and twirls. She taps his nose.

“Inspired!” She shouts before she runs away. She stops midway and turns back to him,

“You’re welcome,” she points at him, stretching her arm out to him. It was something that odd and ridiculous, that planted the seeds of something else, to see her differently.

When the holiday season started that year, that is when it really started to mature and grow, his love for her. She wore the ugliest sweaters, how long has that been something she has done?

She spends each weekend ice skating in the park, she bakes cookies, watches terrible films, and changes her swearing to Christmas themed and food based insults.

“Sweet snowflakes!” She playfully punches Nadir for eating cookies she had reserved for her neighbors. She jumps onto his back and he spins her around, both laugh madly.

“You ginger-snapping biscuit! I’ll kick your macaroons!” Her elf cap flies off as she is spun around and around by the Persian.

“Just try!” The implied threat is empty, he would never hurt her, and everyone knows it.

The rest of the group ignores those two. Jules taps his shoulder and offers him some Xanax. He pops a few pills; he continues to watch her.

“Why couldn’t I have met her first?” Charles asks quietly to himself. He waits for the drug to kick in. Charles could have met her first. He can see it. She’s reading a book at the café near the Opera and he gets his jacket caught on her chair, it disturbs her, he apologies meekly and he notices her book, a book that happens to be his favorite and they have a conversation.

Charles is invited to sit, and they discuss the plot, the author, and other things. She tells him she’s a dancer and he goes to watch her. She is enchanting and he watches every performance. They marry when she turns 18 and he—

Something rough rubs his chin, Charles blinks back his fantasy and is brought back to life.

“You’re drooling.” Erik rubs his gloves fingers together. He's been watching Charles for some time now. 

“She’s making me dizzy.” Charles touches his temple and looks at the ground.

Erik turns his gaze towards the Persian and the dancer. Charles uses that distraction and walks to Raoul and Christine. He does not hear what they say, he nods and comments vague responses, he tries to forget Meg and the life they do not have.

* * *

The party is dying down and Charles is at the end of his party fuel. He’s about to be on fumes. Meg steps up to him. He’s startled by her sudden appearance.

“You’ve been Grump Face all night. Come on, dance a little.” She shakes her hips and moves her body side to side. He waves his hands and shakes his head.

“You know you want to dance with me,” she slams it to the left, slams it to the right, she kicks her leg forward, she jerks her thumps and then moves forward and towards the ground.

Charles is embarrassed for them both. His heart swells with pain and he knows he loves her.

“That’s fair, **_Parisians_** can’t dance. Takes talent and freedom.” Meg keeps moving and grooving. Charles feels fire spark inside of him. Charles is a proud Parisian.

He stands up straight, he loosens his collar and starts to get down. Meg watches him and continues to make up her own awkward fun terrible dance. He snip snaps as he finishes. 

"I stand corrected." She bows respect.

"Damn straight."

"But Paris is still overrated!" Meg says quickly before she runs off. Charles curses at her and she ducks behind Raoul and Christine.

"No one cares about Nice!" He shakes his fist, Meg pokes her head out from hiding.

"I'm not from Nice!" She sticks out her tongue before she hides again.

"She's from Brittany," Raoul says, he does not like being used a human shield. Meg hisses, 'betrayed,' he wags his finger.

"Same difference." Charles shrugs.

"That why everyone hates Paris!" Meg sticks out her tongue again. Raoul walks away so she cannot hide behind him again. Christine laughs silently and follows after him.

"No one hates Paris." Jules says.

"She doesn't count, ignore her," Erik says.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak nevergetssexagain." Meg says brightly. That gets Erik attention, he strides over to her and Charles and the others laugh as Meg eeps and starts to run around the room while Erik calmly, casually follows after her.

* * *

The end of the night is nigh. The food is out, the drinks have been drunk and the drugs consumed, and highs have been high’d. The people are starting to leave, and something catches Charles's eye.

Mistletoe. How did he not notice this? He does not remember it being there before. Has anyone been holiday kissing? He scratches the back of his head, trying to remember.

“Ooh pensive face activated. Serious thought approaching the station.” Meg says. Charles nods up and Meg follows him, her eyes go wide.

“Oooh,” Her mouth forms an O shape. She and him share a look, You have to abide by the season and rules of mistletoe. He closes his eyes and leans forward, Meg looks up and searches the room, her face just barely misses the gentle touch of Charles's lips. He leans back quickly before anyone else can notice his failure.

"Hey, Erik! A metaphor for our relationship! Because, you know mistletoe is a parasite," Erik comes up to her and harshly yanks her arm and pulls her along.

"Aren't we clever," He coos. He leads her out the door. Charles clenches his fists, wishing it were his arms that were around her.

* * *

**Now**

Meg is decorating the tree with RC, she turns to glance at the sofa, where Charles is chilling and smoking. He waves and she half glares and clicks her tongue.

“You said you wanted to come over and help. How is this helping?” Meg nods him.

“I am offering you my festive spirit. It is lighting up the room.” He spread his arms out and Meg narrows her eyes as smoke spreads too.

Erik stopped smoking years ago, he did not want to risk damage to his vocals. The others had no qualms or worries about that. It would be nice if people respected the homes of others and chose to smoke outside!

“You’re full of shit, uncle.” RC opens a new box of ornaments. Charles flicks his ashes at him. Meg is about to throttle him. 

"How dare you speak to your elders in such a vulgar manner. Bow to me, youngling." He demands. RC snorts and he shakes his head, he ignores the demand and hands different ornaments to his mother to hang on the tree.

"Meg, beat your son for his obstinance." Charles takes a drag and Meg glares at him.

"I'm about to beat your snowflakes. Stop smoking in my house!" She throws several knitted ornaments at his head. Charles puts his ciggy out with a coaster. Meg stops what she is doing.

"Rezy, close your eyes. Your Mama is about to get Christmas'd on this fool." Meg takes off her earrings. RC sniggers. He's loving this. He stops what he's doing and waits for his theatre.

Meg steps up to Charles, picks up a pillow and starts to beat him, he grabs her wrists and pulls her onto his lap. She screams in frustration and tries to smother him with the pillow.

Meg feels someone grab her around the waist and pulls her away from Charles. She cries out in protest, RC pouts. He goes back to digging through the ornaments.

"Murder is not a good color for you," Nadir says as Meg thrashes. He waits for her to calm down before he lets her go.

"He used my coaster as an ash tray!" She cries out exasperated. Nadir blinks. Meg pouts and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, and? His brutish behavior surprises you, why?" Nadir clicks his tongue and waves to his nephew.

"To be clear, she said to stop smoking in _**her**_ house. This isn't **_her_ **house. It's **_Erik's._** I put it out to be kind." Nadir rushes for it and grabs Meg around the waist again.

"It's also not a house," RC says as he hangs a Santa on the tree. Meg hisses in his direction. RC smiles and continues his work. Meg holds onto Nadir with her right hand and points violently with her left. Nadir feels coldness strangle his heart as he notices the ring on her finger.

_That bastard did it._

His grip loosens and Meg does not waste this chance and charges at Charles again and slaps and punches him. Not with all her strength, but she is pissed.

"Enough woman! I give!"

Charles could throw her across the room, he could cause injury if he wanted to, but he doesn't. He lets her finish her violence. She exhales and takes a step back, her back hunched. She waves and is satisfide. She needs a minute before she finds the festive elf spirit again.

The truth is, if this is what it takes for Meg to touch him, he'll do it and accept it. He's sure this says something about him personally, but he does not care.

Nadir nods at her hand.

"So, what does that mean?" Meg holds it and walks to the box by her son.

"Hm?" Feigning confusion. She hums a song and rummages through the box. RC notices Nadir's intense gaze and follows it with his own eyes.

"Mother?" He asks.

"How is it going to work?" Nadir hates being the Father of the group. Being the logical one to point out harsh and hard truths. He's spent too many nights holding onto to the others as they weep and die in his arms.

"How is it going to work, if he's with Christine? Is he going to draw up a custody arrangement?" Nadir laughs bitterly. 

"My mother hated the concept of 'Santa' and she would always write, 'Satan', on the gifts. She said it was an accident. I wish you could have met her, Rezy, she made this one." She holds out an ornament to RC. It's a deer, the paint is faded and antlers are missing. RC takes his mother's hand, examines it and curses before he roughly lets go.

“Christmas music! That’s what we need, to get out cheer back.” Meg goes to the speaker, sets her phone and hits play.

“There we go, let’s all embrace it. Feel it, know it, love it, the music of Christmas,” She rubs the front of her body, closes her eyes and tries to get lost in the music and dance.

"Meg," Nadir starts gravely. Meg eyes open and she turns on him. 

"No! Now listen you, we're going to have a great Christmas holiday! There will cheer and a stupid amount of cookies, and baking, and ugly sweater parties and presents! We're going to be so full of Christmas spirit, we'll shit reindeer!" Meg stomps her foot and her eyes challenge, nay, dares the others to protest.

"Ow," Charles moans faintly. Meg rubs her hands together.

"Now, who wants my special eggnog?" She smiles brightly. Everyone says yay and Meg sets out to play host.


	32. Bittersweet Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bittersweet moments and snow.

* * *

Charles needs to run through the plan once more just so it is perfectly clear and he has not misheard or imagining things. He is in the driver’s seat of the rented truck, a douglas fern is on the roof.

“So, I have this right, we’re breaking into our Muslim’s friend’s home and setting up a Christmas tree.” He casts a quick glance at Jules, the one who is behind this mad idea. He nods.

“He won’t expect a thing.”

“Uh huh.” Charles taps his fingers against the steering wheel. This is not the worst way to spend the evening.

They arrive.

“So, you go in and distract him.” Charles says as he gets out of the truck. Jules starts to panic.

“What?”

“Yeah, your idea and he is your **_best friend_** _,”_ Charles says with a mocking breathy air. Charles goes to the tree and starts to untie the binds and rope. Jules is nervous. He nods

He doesn’t wait to be allowed inside and makes his way in like he owns the place. Nadir resists throwing the remote at him.

“Jules, I didn’t hear you knock.” Nadir’s is an angry smile. He gets up, greets the other man and follows the proper host protocol and makes the preparations for tea. He takes a sherry glass, pours sherry and hand it to Jules. The Frenchies all require a pre tea cocktail of some sort. They tend to become cranky without.

Jules accepts and remembers why he came. Charles is at the window motioning at him violently.

“Nadir, can you show me Mecca.”

“What?” Nadir had not expected that and stares at his friend.

“Like, how do you pray? Can you show me again? Upstairs?” Jules points to the ceiling. Nadir looks up then back to his friend. He rubs the back of his neck.

“Sure,” Nadir shakes his head and leads the other man upstairs. Once it is clear, Charles comes in from the front door, dragging the tree with him. He leans it against the wall and runs out the door, comes back with the tree stand and begins to work.

\--

* * *

Nadir demonstrates to the French man how a good Muslim prays. He stands up.

“And that’s how a Muslim do,” Nadir cringes, he regrets that.

“Thank you. Do you have a copy of the, the,” Jules feels his cheeks flush, he cannot remember the name of the book.

“The Quran.” Nadir walks over to a bookcase, and he pulls out his copy of the holy book, he shows it off to Jules before gently returning it to its place.

“Yes, that’s it.” Jules is sweating. He pulls at his tie and is tempted throw off his jacket. He walks over to Nadir’s bed and sits down. He waves his hands to cool and calm down.

“Are you feeling alright, Bernard?” Nadir is somewhat amused, but he can feel the need to put on his Papa hat, and he really wanted a quiet night.

“Hm? Oh, I am fine.” His face his red and he wipes sweat from his brow before it can sting and blind his eyes. Nadir exhales and walks over to him, sits down next to him.

“Do you want to convert? Or is there something else?” Nadir thinks of the different dark possibilities that could lead Jules here so randomly and in such a nervous and pathetic state.

“Convert? Oh, no. I’m still Catholic, despite everything,” he chuckles. The laughter does not reach his eyes.

“Is it Erik? Is he leading you on again? We talked about this; you deserve better. “

“What? No.” Nadir is unconvinced and sighs heavily. He rubs his face. It is going to be a long night.

Loud banging and curses from downstairs interrupt Nadir. He runs out of the room and down the stairs.

\--

* * *

Charles has the tree settled in the stand finally. Nadir stops short and he’s very confused.

“Chuck, what the actual fuck? What?” Nadir is very confused, he turns to Jules who ta, da’s.

“Merry Christmas!” His smile is wide and awkward. He wags his fingers.

“What?” Nadir turns back to the tree.

“You idiot, you didn’t bring any ornaments!” Charles snaps. He sits down next to the tree, digs through his jacket for a lighter.

“What’s happening?” Nadir walks over to the tree and examines it. He tugs at branches and frowns as needles fall to the floor.

“We got you a tree.” Jules says, he actually hadn’t thought too deeply about this.

“Right.” Nadir bends down and starts to pick up the needles from the tree.

“You’ve never had a tree before, so I thought, it would be fun!” Jules says from behind.

“You failed to bring ornaments.” Charles takes a deep drag from his cig.

“We’ll go out and get some!” Jules is out the door. Nadir rubs the back of his head and looks at the tree.

“I think I get it. Thanks?” Nadir says, he is not sure how he feels about the tree. Jules presses the horn.

“We should go before he pisses off the neighbors.” Nadir goes to grab his coat. Charles stands and shrugs.

“If they make an issue, we’ll just kill them,” he flicks the cig on the ground and presses it with his shoe, putting it out. Nadir resists pistol whipping him in the back of the head.

“You were a nice practicing Catholic that feared God, what happened, Chuck?” He asks knowing the answer.

“I met Erik.” Charles turns to him. Nadir feels cold and it’s not from the weather.

\--

* * *

**1879 Christmas Eve, France, Giry Residence.**

“And what did we ask for, this year?” Mama Giry asks. She is at her chair in the small front room near the kitchen. She is knitting a scarf. One can never more than enough scarves. Meg is seated by the small furnace; she’s poking the fire with the stoker.

“Fresh bread,” Meg turns to her mother, they share a sad smile before returning to their separate work.

“The small things in life,” Mama Giry says as she knits. Meg nods, she watches the fire intensely.

“Do you think we could find work in the new year?” Meg gives up on the fire and settles by the window, she looks out and watches as the snow falls.

“Perhaps. That new Opera House should be finished. There is bound to be work there, maybe you could dance.” Mama Giry sets aside the finish scarf and rummages from her basket.

“That would be magical,” Meg closes her eyes. She can see herself on the stage dancing in a grand tutu, all eyes on her as she performs, the light fights to keep up with her movements, pink daylilies are thrown on stage instead of the typical rose.

“It’s time for bed, come!” Her mother calls out to her. Meg moves away from the window.

* * *

**New York, Today**

Meg blinks back the memories. She hates this fireplace, it’s not real. It’s one of those digital, we want the idea of a fire, fireplace. She told Erik it was a stupid idea and he had it installed to spite her, and he reminded Meg, it was his building, his penthouse, she is just allowed to live there.

“When I had nothing and lived with my mother, I had a better fireplace than this, also, it was real.” Meg sighs before standing up to refill her glass. RC holds his glass up wordlessly; she narrows her eyes her boy before taking his glass.

“Weren’t you poor and shared a bed?” RC shoulders. The idea having nearly nothing and having to share a bedroom with his parents makes him sick. Gideon, his boyfriend, lived in a two-bedroom apartment with a family of five for four years, while his parents worked and saved so they could afford a better place. That was hard.

RC never wanted for anything. Meg feels she has failed her boy in many ways. He doesn’t have to work for anything.

“I should have made him get a job when he turned fourteen and had him buy his fancy flute himself,” Meg chides herself as she walks to the kitchen. She made him do his own laundry at the age of thirteen, so she has that. He can load a dishwasher, he can dress himself, suck it nobles. Meg laughs at her thoughts.

“Thank you, Ms. Giry,” Gideon says, ever the polite one, as Meg hands him a fresh glass of eggnog.

“You can call her Meg,” RC takes his glass roughly and he keeps his attention to the film on the TV.

“If it makes you comfortable to call me Ms. Giry instead, that’s okay. Either is fine.” Meg returns to her seat and glares at the false fire.

“What’s Papa doing?” RC is trying to get along with his father, for Meg, he will try.

“Sleeping off Dilaudid.” Meg is very bitter that Erik discovered something more potent than morphine. She gets it, his mind is different and as much as she hates to admit it, the drugs do calm Erik the eff down, but he could have the decency to keep his habit outside of homes they share and away from their children!

She snorts darkly. Who is she kidding? Erik exists to serve his own dark pleasures, self-indulgent and gluttony are not strong enough to describe it.

Though, there are the benefits of his high and calmer brain. He’s almost **_nice_** , and if Meg asks him to do things, he does, she just wished it didn’t take those measures.

How is this the life she chose? Enslaving herself to a dark creature who throws her to the side constantly, only to pick her up and do it again, and again.

“Isn’t that stronger than morphine **_and_** codeine?” Gideon is alarmed. His favorite uncle died from his drug addiction.

“Yes.“ Meg hisses as she crosses her arms and tries to find a comfortable position in the chair.

“What super genius told Papa about it?” RC is just a tad bitter. When RC was five, he found a bag of speed hidden in the sofa, he took some, was rushed to the hospital and he and his mother lived with Nadir for a few months. It turns out, maternal anger is resistant to Erik’s hypnotic, enticing voice.

Eventually it too, wears down, they moved back in, but still.

"Jules." Meg hisses through closed teeth.

That stupid drone, Jules. He wanted to win back some favor with his master, so he found a way, drugs, powerful drugs and he invited Erik over for an event, they shared this new delicious vice and Erik retuned the favor by fucking Jules until he could no longer remain conscious.

Christine shares Meg's displeasure of Erik's and the others drug habits, those women leave events when they are passed around.

“What are we watching?” Meg’s body jolts hot blue sparks at the sound of Erik’s melodious voice at her ear.

Meg looks up and is surprised, he must be high, he left their bedroom sans mask. Gideon recoils in horror, RC shakes his head violently and holds his hand and whispers harshly to be cool, remain cool.

Nose up, Erik looks like a severely burned, melted fleshy skeleton, nose down he’s got a normal youthful handsome face. He’s still working on the rest, it’s a process.

"Erik, you're underdressed for our present company! I'm surprised at this new development. I am glad for it, aren't you Rezy?" Meg nods at her son, he nods.

"Yes, Papa. It's good that you feel comfortable with your natural visage." RC offers a smile of support.

Gideon remains silent, he wants to be cool, wants to be show support, but he knows what beauty is according to society and his own standards, and Erik is the antithesis of all it.

Erik ignores all that noise and nuzzles Meg neck and he breathes her sweet perfume. He is still rather off his rocker and has the need to be with his mate, it is screaming, burning in lights inside his mind, his heart. He **_must_ **have her attention.

" _Die Hard,_ " Meg says remembering the question, trying to fight off Erik, she's failing. His need for attention is stronger than her want for a comfortable position on the chair.

“Ice skating,” He whispers into her neck.

“Ice skating? Now?” She tries to find a clock, something showing time. It's probably late. She closes her eyes. He doing wonderful things.

“Mm.”

“Sure, we’ll go.” She says awkwardly.

* * *

Nadir, Charles, and Jules are back from the store and are decorating the tree. Nadir awkwardly throws the tinsel, he watches the others, he’s trying to figure out if he’s doing it right.

Results pending.

“This is kind of fun,” Nadir says. He does not hate this. Charles finishes a box and opens another one.

“They used to put candles on trees,” Jules says,” people are stupid,” Jules puts his hand on Nadir’s shoulder for leverage as he raises up to put an ornament on a branch higher up.

"I've seen Meg and Erik do this, but I never understood it." Nadir pushes Jules away, as he tries the same stunt again.

"I don't understand it, I just do it." Charles taps a glass ball.

"Wait, wasn't there an incident with a fire at Christmas at the Opera House once?" Nadir blinks several times as the memory comes back to him. Charles and Jules snicker.

"That was great."

"Like I said, people are stupid." Jules hangs a Santa ornament on Nadir, Charles does the same.

"Oh Christmas, Nadir," they both sing as they continue to decorate their Muslim friend.

* * *

**Christmas, Opera Populaire, 1880**

**“This is why we can’t have nice things**!” Moncharmin throws his hat on the ground and stomps on it. He grabs his head and paces in a circle, he groans violently. Firmin is at a loss. The firemen have been called and he is trying to keep the others calm and have the building evacuated.

Carlotta shoved Christine into the tree, Christine had been holding a candle, they were going to sing Silent Night, and Christine was holding a candle, and Carlotta, pushed Christine with her hip, trying to be clever and subtle, into the tree, which caught fire.

Meg grabbed a cup from someone as she passed and threw it at the tree, thinking it would be water, which it wasn’t and made it that much worse.

Charles holds onto his panicking wife Louise and laughs at the chaos.

"This is a great Christmas party, don't you think, my darling?" He holds her close, she does not agree.

"No, Charles. We need to leave." She tries to move. He frowns and he escorts her out the building. Jules follows the couple and pulls at Charles's elbow.

"Leaving now?" Jules finds it hard to connect with people, especially his own awful wife, and he doesn't even try to parent anymore. Erik is more of a father now, paying for their education and other expenses. Without Erik whispering at his ear Jules can hardly function. 

"The tree is on fire, Jules," Louise is surprised she must say this. Jules is pathetic, he nods, he lowers his head and turns back, Charles sighs and he calls out to him.

"Come over, we'll have a drink." Jules brightens up and he accepts gleefully.

* * *

**Now**

"Do you need the penguin?" Meg slides the penguin over to Erik who bats it away. He may not be graceful and high out of his mind right now, but he has never used a penguin to ice skate. He figures it out, eventually. Meg skates backwards and waves goodbye as the distance grows.

After an awkward minute of finding balance, Erik is able to find her and skate with her.

"The skating butler," Meg giggles," that's what you are tonight," Meg is happy, previous annoyances forgotten. Holiday Meg activated.

"Butler?" He never understood that one.

"Your dress! You dress like a butler! The Butler of the Opera, that's what you were!" Meg is about to lose balance from laughter. Erik grabs her around the middle and they spin several times.

"I was not dressed as a butler!" Erik's good humor fading as Meg practically cackles.

"Yes! The dark black trousers, the white undershirt, the vest, the jacket with the split! That's what butler's wear! Your tailor thought you were the head servant of the house!" Meg slows her speed, she's losing focus from laughter, and Erik's starting to radiate heat from anger.

"The butler did it!" Meg sits down on the ice. He pulls her roughly, and before he can say or do anything she boops his nose with her mittens.

"Merry happy holiday times. Let's get some mulled wine and you can angrily pound me into the ground, yeah?" She pushes off of him and skates backwards, he goes after to her.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the book Phantom, Erik completely destroys Jules over the years with his enticing voice and machinations, and he makes amends by paying his children's education. Jules is the reasoning behind how Erik furnished his home under the Opera House, and why he wanted so much money monthly, Erik promised Jules he'd pay him 10 thousand francs a month. Jules had nine kids, a lot of education to pay for...  
> and I think Louise IS the name of Charles's wife


	33. Burn It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets jealous of things, Meg bakes cookies.

* * *

**1880, Christmas**

Meg and her mother are enjoying the warmth of the fire. They finished dinner and are quietly enjoying the rest of their evening. Meg and her mother left the Christmas Gala the Opera House hosted early.

Me smiles and turns to the fire. Her mother and Meg are in a better place this year, they both have found legitimate work and a stable income, no longer needs to do bad or unsavory things.

Meg does not have much to her name, but what she does have is love. She has shelter, a place to lay her head down at night, a mother who loves her and she found a way to use her talents where it matters.

“Meg, here.” Mama Giry hands Meg a brown package. Meg’s eyes light up and sparkle with excitement and wonder, she shakes it, places it next to her ear, her mother playfully rolls her eyes and tsks.

Meg purposefully opens the brown package slowly. After a minute of this, her mother can no longer take, she grabs the package and rips it open.

“It’s beautiful!” Meg wraps the deep emerald scarf around her neck, she poeses.

“You can never have too many scarves.” Meg bends down and takes something from under the sofa and snaps back up, she has a small box for her mother.

“Speaking of,” Meg hands the box to her mother. Mama lifts the lid of the box; she laughs as she pulls out a pair of dark wool socks.

“We made it this year, we got to buy our swag.” Meg pulls at her scarf happily.

“We’re living it up.” Mama Giry removes her old socks and pulls the new ones

“I believe now is the time for the Christmas crackers,” Meg leaps from the sofa and runs around the small apartment, she hops back onto the sofa, her mother firmly scolds her as she takes the Christmas cracker.

On the count of three they pull and squeal in delight as magic happens. Meg almost falls off the small sofa from her laughter. A knock, knock, knock at the door sobers her up.

“Who could that be?” Mama Giry is suspicious. They do not usually receive visitors, and it is late in the evening. Meg shrugs, she jumps up to her feet, filled with adrenaline.

“Could it be, Christmas carolers? They found out where we live! Avast!” Meg runs to her door, Mama Giry prays to baby Jesus for strength to handle her daughter’s eccentricities for another year.

Meg pulls the door open with more grandiose splendor than necessary, ready to get caroled. She holds her breath, and a large smile plastered on her face.

No one is on the other side of the door. Meg blinks and waits. She takes a few steps outside and turns to the left, to the right, looks up the street.

“Curious,” Meg taps her chin, she is taken back, when she sees a something on the ground, a long white rectangular box with a black and white ribbon.

“Curiouser yet,” Meg bends down, picks up the box and checks for a note, nothing, she goes inside.

“Who was it?” Mama Giry voice calls out, Meg walks to the kitchen table and sets down the box.

“Mysterious gift. Perhaps an elf! Santa found us after all!” Meg playfulness is rising to dangerous levels. Meg gently pulls at the ribbon, which comes apart easily, she is now able to lift up the top of the box.

Meg scoffs, she blinks confused and removes the baguette. It is still warm, fresh. Meg checks for a note, anything.

“What is it?” Mama Giry peers over her daughter’s shoulder.

“Uh, baguette.”

“Did you order from the bakery? Odd time to deliver.”

“I didn’t.”

“It would be rude to it throw out,” Mama Giry says, Meg does not to hear anymore, she grabs a small knife to cut and serve the bread.

“Now, it’s the best Christmas ever. Meg smiles and dances as she picks at her baguette slice.

\--

* * *

**2002, Christmas.**

“You bought him presents.”

Reza-Charles is almost a year old and Meg bought him Christmas presents. What the hell is a baby going to do with or know about receiving a gift.

“What will he know of this?” Erik gestures to the world around them. Meg and Erik are sitting by their Christmas tree. RC babbles sporadically and plays with bright reindeer themed wrapping paper.

“He has the same cognizance of an animal.” Erik flicks his fingers in her direction.

Erik did not buy RC a gift because he is a baby and babies know nothing of the world.

“I bought Ayesha presents when she was alive, you didn’t have anything to say about that.” Meg lets baby RC play with the wrapping paper, that is what he is about right now.

“Those gifts were practical, and Ayesha was an intelligent creature.” Erik takes the paper from RC and crumbles it into a ball before tossing it into the fireplace.

“Your son is an intelligent creature,” Meg sticks out her tongue and errs at Erik, who grabs her tongue and squeezes. Meg slaps at his hand. He tilts his head, smiles darkly, showing his perfect white teeth.

Meg may have made a mistake in building Erik’s confidence, since now he feels comfortable enough to not wear his mask all the time when it’s just them.

When he smiles, it is unnerving. How do you tell your partner that their smile makes you want to call out to Wonder Woman or insert hero here?

Meg glares, when that does not get her results, she crosses her eyes and makes odd faces. Erik leans forward and rests his elbow on his knee, not relenting.

She does her best to try and bite him.

* * *

**Now**

“I need you to clean your room like you’re hiding a dark secret,” Meg says, she is holding a brown paper bag full of stuff. RC is in his room at his desk.

“Don’t we have a staff for that,” he makes no indication of complying.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak nevergetsChristmaspresentsagain.” Meh snaps her fingers and points at his room violently. RC sighs melodramatically and pushes away from the desk. He makes a great show of picking this up, dropping them, grunting, groaning.

“Stop acting like Garfield on a Monday! It’s Christmas time! Be merry!” Meg digs through the bag and throws confetti at RC.

“Clean that up too!” Meg orders before moving on. RC mutters something.

“I heard that!”

\--

* * *

“You’re Muslim.” Erik says he stares at the tree. Nadir nods, he drinks his beer. Charles sent Erik a picture via text of the tree and his impression of a Christmas Tree.

“I think I’m starting to get it.” Nadir twists his free hand. He does like the tree. It was fun decorating it.

“You’ve never held interest in this before,” Erik says softly.

“I wasn’t uninterested. I come to your holiday parties and celebrate Christmas with you every year Erik. I jus never decorated or had a tree of my own.”

“Did you buy it or cut it down?” Erik pulls at the branches. Nadir frowns.

“Jules and Charles brought it over.” Nadir bends down and wipes the needles from the wrapped gifts. Erik rolls his shoulders.

“Did they?” Erik taps one of the glass balls, he casts a quick glance at Nadir before turning back to the tree.

“Erik, state your subtext, I’m tired and don’t want to fish.” Nadir sips from his beer. He has his Papa hat on and he needs this to get done right quick.

“If you wanted to do this, why didn’t we do it?” Erik is practicing great restraint; he clenches his jaw, and he moves his fingers.

“I didn’t not want to do it. It is not something I thought of doing, E. I do not exclude you from anything I do. Jules and Charles planned this. I would have had you involved if it were my idea.”

Christine is Erik’s favorite **obsession** , but Nadir is Erik’s favorite **possession** after Meg. When Nadir plays with others, Erik is set off.

“You didn’t ask.” Erik spies something on the tree, an ornament that says, “From Jules,” Erik grabs it.

“Erik, do you want to get stupid with me and play snowball manhunt tonight?” Nadir sighs.

Erik drums his fingers against the ornament rapidly, displaying is agitation.

“Don’t.” Erik bites down and he hisses.

“It doesn’t have to be that. I would like to spend time with my best friend. Do you want to spend the night and get weird?” Nadir does not keep drugs at his home, but Erik is Erik, so he obviously is a walking pharmacy.

“I’m an afterthought.” The ornament is crushed in his hands and Nadir recoils, he jumps back.

“You’re not.” Nadir taps Erik’s shoulder.

“No?” Erik drops the remnants.

“Erik, you know what you mean to me. That never changed. It will not change.”

Nadir bows his head; he knows what will come next. Nadir is not sure what’s worse, Erik or Nadir for allowing Erik and enabling him.

“Mm.”

Nadir exhales, clenches his fist, and curses himself.

“I love you.”

Erik turns to him, tilts his head. He offers his hand, Nadir knows what’s expected and he complies, he drops to his knees, takes both of Erik’s hand, kisses the ring and keeps his head bowed.

Erik knees and kisses Nadir’s forehead before he rests his head against him and exhales. Erik nuzzles his neck.

“Burn it.”

\--

* * *

Meg collapses face down on the sofa and moans about dying and spoiled children.

“Mother, I’m going to visit Lorne,” RC calls and she hears the door slam shut. Meg mumbles some more and exhales.

“Meg, I ran out of sweets, I’m here for more,” Charles calls out. Meg grumbles and forces herself up.

“No more.” Meg grunts. She gave him enough sweets to satisfy an army.

“Mmm, you know I love your pie.” Charles sends her pleading eyes.

“Kitchen is closed.” Meg huffs.

“I’ll help you.” He smiles stupid.

“There’s a book of recipes, everything is in the kitchen.” Meg picks the remote and switches the TV on.

“But that’s so much you’re asking of me.” Charles bites his nails in mock panic.

“One day I won’t be around, and you’ll just have to deal.” Meg waves at her hand dismissively.

“Please,” Charles drops to his knees, he crawls forward and grabs her hands and kisses them.

“They’re just cookies!” Meg cries out in exasperation.

“ ** _Your_** cookies.” He kisses her hand again and Meg sways on the sofa in aggravation.

“I don’t wanna! I just finished cleaning!”

“I’ll design and build your dream house pro bono.”

Charles never does anything for free, not even for his friends or family. His children were not impressed by this, to say the least.

“You never do anything pro bono,” Meg narrows her eyes, not trusting him.

“For you,” he says.

“I have so many ideas,” Meg bites her bottom lip.

“I have the resources and technology.” His fingers caress her hands.

“Promise?”

He nods.

“Merry Christmas.” Meg gets off the sofa and gets ready to get her bake on. Charles follows, jeering silently in victory.


	34. It'sa party!

* * *

This year marks the first party RC can attend that his parents (father) is hosing. He’s really excited and nervous about it, his mother doesn’t want him to be there, but he’s an adult now.

“Adult or not, it’s not appropriate or fair for him to see Erik like this. That is his **_father_**.” Meg states her protests and is denied and ignored. Reza-Charles is turning twenty this year and he is more than old enough to attend a party hosted by his father.

Meg and Christine will not be among the goers, nor will she clean up the mess, she is sure to come with the festivities. Nadir is going and he is playing the role he always plays, Papa. It has been some time since Nadir has been able to kick back and relax at a party.

\--

* * *

“Stay where I can see you, don’t eat or drink anything without asking me. Do not engage with your Papa once the party starts, he is **_not_** your father tonight, and he won’t be right.” Nadir says all of this with a smile and an air of urgency.

“And remember, The **_Phantom_** is hosting, you are not a contracted actor or otherwise member of the team, you’re **_auditioning_** , and your sponsor, your mother, is not here, so stay close to me, the veteran and you might survive.” Nadir hesitates before opening the door. He knows the door is unlocked; it’s always unlocked when Erik throws these events.

“Mother was very odd about this too. It’s a party my father is hosting at the penthouse I live, with people attending I’ve known my entire life.” RC tries to push Nadir out of the way, so he can get in the door.

“You have not known us, not like this. You have seen shades here and there, when you were younger and came out from your room for potty or a glass of water. But you do not **_know_** any of this,” Nadir swallows hard and slowly. He agrees with Meg and does not want Rezy to be exposed to this side of the Frenchies.

“It will get dark, and I need you to tell me when you throw in the towel. I will get you out and into a safe place.”

The door opens, Charles pulls them both inside, he throws his arms over their shoulders and leads them into the main room.

“Did you bring a boon?” Charles licks his teeth and looks from Nadir to RC. Nadir shakes a clear bag, Charles takes the bait, he snatches the big and runs off like a greedy troll and joins Jules on the floor among a sea of pillows.

“That seems very normal,” RC says and Nadir shakes his head. He leads the boy to the kitchen, there are different large crystal bowls. Nadir hesitates before he pours himself a glass, he sniffs, swirls, and takes the smallest, most delicate of sips. He waits a moment, before he dares to take a more generous sip and he waits again.

When nothing happens, he hands RC a cup of the same concoction. Holiday music is playing, the lights have been turned off to enhance the Christmas lights that haven set up all over the penthouse.

The wait staff are dressed as Christmas Elves, and all the food has some Christmas theme: cookies shaped like trees, gingerbread anything, roasted chestnuts, etc.

RC is almost disappointed that nothing darkly sexual or sordid is happening. His father is not terrorizing anyone like Nadir and his mother implied.

\--

* * *

“Enjoying yourself?” RC jumps and the drinks escapes from his hand and rolls onto the floor. Nadir curses and he wipes the liquid from his clothing. He turns around to refuel.

Erik has his arm firmly draped around his boy’s shoulders, he watches Nadir’s movements. RC plays it cool. He ignores his faux pas, and he does his best not to look at his father or focus on him.

Erik is dressed in his Red Death velvet suit he designed years ago, and along with it, his red executioner’s hood that conceals his face. Not the most cheerful outfit. But it is red, so half of the traditional Christmas colors.

“Yeah, I’m cool.” RC does his best to be coy, he keeps his arms closed, to avoid inviting others to come at him. His father's finger drum against him, RC turns and is tempted to remove the hand and arm from him.

“Gideon not feeling welcome?” His father asks, disappointed.

“Uh, everyone was so weird about **_my_** attendance, I thought it would be best if he didn’t.” His father sighs.

“Ah. Next time.” Erik lifts his hand and caresses his son’s neck and RC bats his hand.

“Erik, Jules hasn’t been subjugated by you for at least ten minutes,” Nadir points at the man writhing on the floor. Erik tilts his head and walks over with predatory movements. Nadir nods for RC to follow him.

\--

* * *

The Christmas music changes to a strange long noise, that RC cannot describe other than 80s, he feels 1980s. His vison is warped, melted, like a badly kept VHS tape. The music is distorted, and he has trouble keeping his head up.

There is something wrong with his head. There is a dome or some sort of bubble that are making thoughts difficult. He cannot think, something is interfering with the process. He is heavy, like a bucket of rocks or sand is on top or inside his skull.

He needs to lay down, he wants to lay down. He lowers himself to the floor and curls into a fetal position. He cuffs his ears and tries to block out the sounds.

* * *

"Time to pay the Pied Piper," Charles calls, he is holding a empty bowl. He stops at Nadir, who is kneeling beside RC, he puts his hand up and tells Charles to move along.

"Pied Piper?" RC wants to throw up, he props himself up on his elbow and moans. Nadir helps him in a better position. He is ready to get him out of this place.

"If you asked Erik for a favor during the year, you pay your debt tonight," Nadir explains. RC turns himself around on the floor and tries to watch what's happening, it is dark, his head is muggy, and smog filled. He cannot think or hear straight. Shadows pass. He cannot keep his head up.

"What is that?" RC hears Charles ask.

"My pound of flesh," Jules drops his debt into the bowl. Charles peers down before he he gags and moves his head way.

* * *

Charles offers the bowl to Erik, who accepts and then puts it aside. He finds Charles more interesting and pulls him into him. Charles stumbles and falls against him on the sofa Erik is lounging on. Erik puts his arm around him and presses Charles firmly against him so he cannot move away.

"Erik, I told you that was a one time experiment." Charles huffs a bit of laughter and tries move away, when he finds he cannot, he sighs.

"Where's your offering?" His voice is teasing, but Charles knows better. He licks his lips.

"My offering? I haven't asked for a favor this year." Erik moves his hand to the back of Charles's head and massages the scalp it is gentle and relaxing, before it grows aggressive.

"No? You don't think you owe me anything?" He sounds innocent, confused.

"Erik, I didn't ask you for anything this year. All my work is from loyal clients and word of mouth." Charles tries to break free.

"I'll give you one more chance," Erik squeezes the back of Charles's neck.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I asked you to look after my mate while I was otherwise preoccupied, not to try and fuck her." He raises Charles's head and forces him to face Erik, well his conceal face. He's lost the playfulness and anger has taken its stead. 

"Erik, we didn't do anything." Charles's speech is slurred and he tries to wiggle and move out of Erik's hold. Erik moves his mouth to Charles's ear, "only because she said she needed more time,"

"I expect Christine to return to that **boy's** bed. They're practically married. Meg though," Erik runs his fingers through Charles's hair and massages his scalp with his nails again," she's **mine**. I share so much with you, with all of my precious pets, but some things are mine alone to enjoy. You've been a naughty boy, my dear."

Erik is radiating heat. His touch is starting to burn. Nadir appears from nowhere.

"What's up?" He asks, his voce pleasant and innocent. Charles tries to reach out to him.

"Law and order," Erik rests his chin against Charles's head.

"Law and order?" Nadir sounds like child.

"He's been naughty, he must be punished, his behavior corrected."

"Naughty?" Nadir asks, blinking rapidly and feigning confusion.

"Mm. Illegal play with Meg." Erik taps Charles's temple at each word. Nadir scoffs and waves his hand.

"Punished for that? Flirting with Meg isn't a serious offense is it? Everyone is this group has flirted with each other at least once, Erik. This group is incestuous, is Charles really deserving of a punishment over that? Erik, that's hardly a slight," Nadir turns to Charlies," Did you go to bed with Meg?" Charles shakes his head vigorously and Nadir claps his hands together.

"See? She's still yours in every way."

"She was tempted." Nadir is sure Erik is pouting his lips.

"Given a choice, she will always pick you, despite any temptation. Even when you throw her into the garbage, she has always chosen you. Charles's showing an interest will not change how you have her trained."

"I demand satisfaction," Erik will not relent. 

"Erik," Nadir sighs.

"I'm not backing down on this. He used our situation to his advantage and he tired to take her from me."

"I did not!" Charles argues. Nadir hisses at him to be silent.

"Then there's what he did with you," Erik turns to face Nadir.

"What did I do with Nadir? What are you talking about?"

"This is about the tree?" Erik nods.

"The tree Jules got him?"

"You have no right to interact with Nadir without me or my permission."

"He's my friend!"

Nadir pulls at his face.

"Then punish Jules! It was his idea!"

"I will take Charles's place for his punishment, if you will let this go after tonight." Nadir looks where he think Erik's eyes are and directly at concealed face.

"Nadir," Nadir hisses at Charles to be silent. Erik is quiet. After what feels like 100 years, he nods, he lets Charles go, Nadir takes his place.

"Put the kid to bed!" Nadir calls after Charles, Charles nods and goes off to find RC.


	35. New Years.

* * *

**NYC, 2015, December 22 nd**

Meg Giry turns on the vacuum and makes a point to vacuum the spaces in front of the sofa and TV, she turns it off and stares pointedly at the occupants of the sofa and spreads her arms wide and half bows aggressively.

“Ta da! It’s fine, no, really. I’ll do it.” She switches it on again. Lorne turns to RC.

“I get the feeling your mother wants us to clean,” RC shrugs.

“We have a maid service for that,” RC refocuses on the program.

“If it’s on the floor, I’m throwing it away!” Meg voice calls from the other room. After a minute RC jumps to his feet.

“Where’d I put my flute,” he runs to his room, Lorne laughs and changes the channel.

RC stops and meets his mother, who is standing outside his room with the vacuum, she crosses her arms and sighs.

“I’m raising a barn animal. Good to know.” She tsks and RC enters his room. He starts picking random objects and clothing, while his mother sighs and judges from the doorway.

“Are you not aware of the wardrobe? That is where you put items like your garments. You pull the drawer by the handle, and oh my gosh, it slides out and you can store things in there!” His mother poses dramatically and slaps her chin.

RC ignores her. Meg is only ever irritated if his Papa does something especially hurtful or, if they are going on vacation and she wants the house clean, or if they are having company, and wants the house clean.

“Clean your room like you’re a serial killer covering your tracks. We leave in an hour!” Meg turns on the vacuum again and moves on. RC mutters something, Meg pops her head into his doorway.

“I heard that!” She then leaves again. RC exhales relief and continues cleaning like a teenager.

“Erik, I swear to the Powers That Be, I **_will_** leave your ass if you don’t hide your LSD better! If I find anymore, I **will** throw it away!”

RC peers out into the hallway. His mother must be agitated something fierce if she is threatening Papa like that. His mother is holding something in her hand, Papa causally takes it from her and closes the bedroom door. She screams in frustration and vacuums the same spot angrily.

\--

* * *

“I need you to remove your mask,” The TSA Agent huffs, they half glare at Erik. They are undaunted by his height and mask. Before Erik can put them in their place, Meg appears and slides a paper over.

“No, he doesn’t,” Meg winks at Erik before turning to the TSA Agent. They read the paper that says Erik has a severe unique rare skin condition that requires him to always wear a mask, no exceptions, the simplest of light will cause a lethal reaction.

“Fine,” they motion for Erik to go ahead.

\--

* * *

“Everyone has their seat assignments. Nadir, I will buy you a bar,” Meg hands him his boarding pass. He checks it briefly before he ha’s sarcastically, a few people turn to glare at him.

“You owe me **two** for this,” Nadir whistles. He is seated with Lorne and RC, babysitting duty already starting.

“First class?” Erik asks, not bothering to check his pass, Meg nods he runs his gloved fingers through her locks in approval.

“Here we come, Disney!” Meg cheers.

\--

* * *

“We have two rooms booked,” Meg tries to sound casual and cool; she watches Nadir, and he picks up on her meaning before he smiles and half whines like a dying motor.

“ **Three**.” He says, his eyes are bright. Erik watches the bellman take their luggage and follows behind with predatory movements, waiting, wanting, to strike. Meg apologizes to Nadir in maladroitly silent movements as she walks to catch up to Erik and the luggage.

Lorne and RC chat away about what parks and rides they hold the most favor, Nadir makes lists for all the things Meg now owes him for making him a babysitter on this holiday.

“Not playing parents this trip?” Erik asks as Meg joins him in the elevator.

“There may have been an ulterior motive in inviting Nadir. Obviously, spending Christmas Eve and Christmas as a family, but the rest of the time and New Year’s, no. Lorne and Rezy are not in our universe.” Meg smacks her lips together and watches Erik.

“You planned this well,” he praises, he tugs at her hair, he likes playing with her long locks.

\--

* * *

“Erik, I love this,” Meg gestures to his three-piece dark charcoal suit,” but I said, I’m going to the pool, and this outfit pool does not make,” Meg tsks and clicks her tongue. Meg is wearing a vintage inspired two-piece with a sarong around the waist.

“You said, ‘casual,’ this is casual,” he replies dryly. He could take the jacket off, be even more casual like a slacked-jaw simpleton that seems to be the dominate species of this hotel. It is supposed to be a four-star resort, he disagrees.

“Maybe lose the jacket. The vest is doing all sorts of things for me. The jacket is giving me heat stroke.” Meg crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue on the corner of her mouth.

Erik sighs, he takes off his jacket with care and hangs it up in the closet. He turns and Meg nods, gives him a thumbs up.

“Better! One day, you’ll understand Everyman Wear,” Meg winks, Erik growls in disagreement. Meg does her best not to show intimidation and opens the door, she motions for him to take the lead out the door.

\--

* * *

“I don’t think you understand what a pool is.” Lorne shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. RC is wearing his red and black jeans and a dark long sleeve shirt.

“I’m not going in,” RC holds out his book.

“Okay, but a couple of things. We’re in Florida, so all of this,” he gestures RC’s outfit,” is wrong and we’re going to where water lives.”

“I’m comfortable and I’m not going in the water.” Nadir comes out from his room, Meg had the good thinking of booking them a double room suite so, Nadir had his own room and the teens shared theirs.

“Little one, I thought you were going to the pool?” Nadir is dressed for water fun times like Lorne. RC pinches the bridge of his nose and his body stutters as he exhales, trying to remain calm and not snap and kill the cretins who are annoying him.

“I am not going in the water.”

“But. There’s water.” Lorne says and Nadir nods. RC grumbles in frustration and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Teenagers, man.” Lorne shakes his head.

\--

* * *

RC finds himself a lounge chair and plants himself. He opens the book and gets lost in the words and universe. Nadir throws his things on the chair next to RC and then walks down the steps into the pool. Lorne jumps in.

After about twenty minutes of swimming around, two female teens enter the pool. They spy RC on his lounge chair and find him most intriguing. They smile, giggle and stare at him. RC is oblivious to it. He is entirely focused on the book.

“Ooh, this is going to be painful,” Lorne tells Nadir as they watch the females. Nadir nods.

“He is so much like Erik. Most of the time, Erik does not know when someone **_is_** attracted to him. Hell, the shah’s mother was **_obsessed_** with him, like the way he is with Christine, and he did not know. RC seems to be the same make,” Nadir is amused.

“Half the girls in our Lit class want Rez, and he has no idea.” Lorne scoffs.

"And yet when someone shows interest in their partner, they suddenly pick up on the signs. When Raoul went after Christine," Nadir trails off as he watches his adopted nephew/godson.

"I can see that," Lorne says, they both watch RC with vested interest. The two females find the courage to walk over to RC, it takes a minute for his attention to be caught, and twenty seconds for him to coldly shut them down. Lorne and Nadir wince, cringe and feel sorry for the girls, who walk away in shame and embarrassment.

* * *

Meg could spend all of forever in a jacuzzi. The intense warmth of the water is sublime in its relaxation. There is just something magical about the burning waters. All the pain of the day melts away and she is at peace. Meg lowers herself and is almost entirely submerged.

After a minute of this and nearly nodding off, Meg sits up straight, she is startled. She is no longer alone. Two unknown males are watching her. Meg smiles and waves, she lowers herself back underwater, until only nose up is visual. She blows bubbles.

\--

* * *

Erik is lounging on the chair, much like his boy. He is not reading a book; his entire face is concealed with a white porcelain mask. He is still wearing his ‘casual’ suit. He is quite the unique sight. Some of the older women who are in the area are finding it difficult to ignore him.

He is oblivious to it all. One of the older women grow brave and they decide to try to strike an acquaintance and conversation. Linda, walks over, she drops her purse on his legs as she slowly walks by, she squeals and makes a great show of her faux pas and apology.

Erik ignores the noise. He rises suddenly. He moves past the woman vying for attention.

\--

* * *

The hair on the back of Nadir’s sticks up. That is not a good sign. That means trouble is a foot. Nadir turns around, trying to find the danger. He finds it. He climbs out of the pool and goes for the interception.

Nadir steps up in record time. He blocks Erik from further attempt at the jacuzzi.

“That’s your pool wear? I am disappointed it is not bejeweled long underwear. Like with emerald, diamonds and shit.”

Erik ignores him, he is watching the jacuzzi and Nadir is not going to let him pass. Nadir may be 5’10 to his 6’7, but he is undaunted and is damn agile himself.

“You know this is a pool right? That you’re not going to the **_theatre_**?” Nadir pulls at Erik’s vest.

“Two against one isn’t playing fair,” Erik places his hands on Nadir’s shoulder and moves him to the left.

“Meg can fight **The Phantom** off, I think she can handle a pair of normal humans.” Nadir says. They watch Meg, who gets out of the water. She is taken aback by Erik and waves.

“See? She lived, you gotta stop being so errr, all the time.” Nadir slaps Erik’s back. Meg steps up to them.

"I grow weary of this place." Erik says flatly and Meg nods. She turns around.

"We can go back to the room," Erik does not wait for her to finish, he grabs her by the waist and he walks her out of the pool. Nadir sighs with relief and goes back to his charges.

* * *

 _“The Tower of Terror,”_ Meg uses her mysterious voice. Lorne and Nadir are the hesitant ones of the group.

“How is the wait only ten minutes?” RC doubles checks just to be sure.

“Run for it!” Meg does not wait for the others and makes a break for it. Lorne and Nadir do not make such movements, RC and Erik follow the blonde at a casual pace.

* * *

"We could go to Epcot next. They have a France." Lorne's eyes sparkle. Erik and Meg being the proper French members of the group are not so sure about it.

"France? Just eat a baguette and lose a world war. There, you experienced France," Nadir teases. Meg narrows her eyes playfully. Erik, being from Normandy, is not impressed or amused, he leans into Nadir,

"You know that's not what happened," his voice as enthralling as ever, he roughly scratches Nadir's scalp, who stares him down.

"To France?" Lorne asks, trying to break the awkward moment.

* * *

RC picks up a random touristy Disney themed trinket. It's 50 bucks, he considers it. Erik takes it from his hand and whistles.

"Do you want this or NYU?" He turns to RC, who shakes his head and moves on to the next section of interest.

* * *

Meg picks up a bag from the shelf and tries out, she checks herself out in the mirror and can herself in the city rocking the shit out it. She looks at the tag, $495, Meg does not hesitate as she puts it back and pets it lovingly as she forces herself to walk away.

Meg meets Nadir as he is considering if he wants Pluto or Donald. He can't have both. He holds onto each and raises them and lowers them in a balance of sorts kind of war with his brain. He doesn't know what to do! It's hurts his heart. He looks at Meg. 

"I like both too," she smiles sadly. She knows his pain. She promised herself not to spend more than 100 on souvenirs. Meg tries to be frugal as possible.

"Aaaah!" Nadir cries and he drops both before pulling at his hair. Meg rubs his back comfortingly.

* * *

"Give it back to him," Meg is serious. Erik says nothing. Meg crosses her arms and taps her foot, Erik still does nothing. 

"Erik, we talked about this, see, want, take, is stealing and a crime. I can arrest you for that." Nadir pinches the bridge of his nose. Erik's kleptomaniac behaviors is giving Nadir PTSD.

There was this one time when he first took Erik to the market, Nadir wasn't paying attention and he tripped into Erik which caused him to spill his hoard, everyone saw that and, Nadir shakes his head nd slaps his face, trying to forget the memory.

"I feel no shame, they were careless. This is what happens when you do not take care with your belongings." Erik twists the gold watch in his hands. Nadir is tempted to arrest him right there. He's about to, but Erik grabs his wrist and adjust the band and lets go. 

"It looks good on you," Erik says as he walks away. Nadir stares at his wrist, he is about to rip it off, but he lets his hand drop. He does like it. He can send it to lost and found before he leaves the park, but there is no harm, no real harm, in enjoying it for the time being. Nadir didn't steal it after all.

* * *

Nadir checks the watch for the time. He is supposed to take the boys out to some silly dinner that Meg booked for them, while she and Erik get to go out and eat like adults.

“We’ll go out for drinks later,” Meg promised with her stupid smile on her face, making it difficult for Nadir to unleash even the smallest of his wrath. Nadir pulls at a necklace Meg did not have before.

“Where’d you get that?” Nadir knows the answer, he is using his disappointed Papa Voice, Meg turns away, but her head snaps back up.

“Nice watch.” Her eyes on fire. Nadir and Meg both smile angrily.

“Thank you,” he says with clenched teeth.

* * *

Nadir feels like a fool, but also not, as he hugs both of his stuffed plushies, Donald and Pluto. If Nadir were the playful type to _Instagram_ , he would make accounts and drive all his friends insane with annoyance over the madcap adventures he’d share with his plush crew.

Meg squeals and hugs the black purse. She is going to rock the shit out it. She rocks back and forth as she snuggles the bag.

Best Christmas Ever.

* * *

**New Year's Eve**

It's beautiful out. The air is cool, not hot or humid. Meg can see the stars and the moon. She lifts her hands and pretends to gather the stars and moon like they are jewels and pearls. She is happy. 

It's a blue velvet cold feeling, she hugs her arms around her chest and makes up a dance as she walks. She spins around. There is no pain, no sorrow, no bitter. She can't think, nothing good or bad, nonthoughts. Erik took her off the property and told her they were going to see the fireworks and have their own fun.

"What do you think?" Erik wraps his arms around her.

"It's like we're one of those cheesy love songs, under the stars, we'll drift to mars, go to the bars and have breakfast at the restaurant at the end of the universe," Meg closes her eyes and can see it in her mind, becoming moonlight.

"You're made of moonlight," Erik nuzzles her neck. They raise their heads up as the fireworks pull their focus.

"This is what it feels like," Meg whispers.

"Mm?"

"To be alive and in love, fire, chaos, and all of the colors. It's loud, you'll burn, and you may die, and sometimes it's pretty."

"And the rest of the time?" He's still watching the firework display.

"Nothing."

He can't help himself any longer, he leans in for a kiss, Meg lips meet his eagerly.

* * *

**Now**

"Happy New Year, Angel." 

Erik blinks, and Meg disappears. He looks over. Christine holds out a flute of champagne. He accepts it. 

"Did you want to watch the fireworks?" She asks, he shakes his head. Erik hands her his empty champagne flute.

"The display is the same each year. There's nothing new or unique." Erik walks towards his music studio leaving Christine alone. There was a time he's sure he'd devour her, but right now he's empty.

"Erik," Christine calls out him. Erik pauses, he turns. Christine wants to say something, her eyes are shiny and red, like she's been crying. Erik goes to her, he cups her face with his hands, he uses his enticing voice and kisses her. Christine responds after a few seconds, she's desperate and hungry.

They part and are breathless. Erik's uses his thumb to caress her chin, he leans into neck and inhales her scent.

"I love you," he kisses her neck, then moves to her throat, her skin, her body respond positively. Christine moans softly and pulls and holds Erik against her, not wanting him to go.


	36. Light

* * *

**NYC, 2015**

There is a small explosion from the kitchen followed by cries of panic. Meg tilts her head to the side and pauses the movie. She looks up.

“That was nifty!” Lorne cries from the kitchen.

Meg gets up from the sofa and heads to ground zero, RC and Lorne are cleaning a pile of shattered red glass. The microwave is filled with more scattered pieces.

“What’d you do,” Meg asks, slightly amused. RC and Lorne jump and turn around. They try to block her; she peers over, and they move.

“Nothing!” RC takes the lead, Lorne just smiles. Meg looks at the scattered class and the pile they have collected.

“What happened?” She nods at the red bits.

“Nothing,” RC repeats, his voice firmer. Lorne still says nothing. Meg looks at him.

“What happened?” Lorne opens his mouth to speak, but RC elbows him hard in the ribs, and he doubles over.

“Nothing.”

“The plate exploded in the microwave, didn’t it?” Meg’s smiles wider, she hates those red plates. They cannot be used in the microwave or be washed in the dish washer.

“Uh,” RC looks down and scratches the back of his head and Lorne avoids looking at her at all costs.

“I hate those plates, I told your father I didn’t want them, but he was going through a red phase and it was his credit card,” Meg shakes her head. RC and Lorne pale and look rather ill.

“These are Papa’s plates?” RC tries not to think of the horror of what punishment would befall him when his Papa found out.

“Explode them all, for all I care.” Meg chuckles softly. RC and Lorne exchange looks.

“I won’t tell,” Meg smiles and boops her son’s nose.

“You won’t tell?” If there is only one thing on this Earth that RC fears, it’s his father. Meg shakes her head.

She makes a motion of locking her lips with a key and winks. RC feels lighter and exhales.

\--

* * *

**2010, NYC**

The stupid figurine shatters as soon as it touches the ground. Erik has no personal feelings towards them, but that stupid thing of porcelain was the last thing Meg had of her mother’s and now it is shattered.

RC looks pitiful and cowers in horror, his uses his arms to protect himself. Erik cannot fix this, it is dead, that stupid figurine.

“What’s this?” Meg asks as she looks at her cowering son and the broken bits of whatever on the ground. She looks at the open cabinet, the cowering boy, and the shattered whatever.

“Oh.” Meg’s voice is small, and she closes her eyes. RC makes pitiful noises.

“Meg,” Erik touches her shoulder, she shakes her head. Meg is sentimental. Memories and moments and objects that represent those moments, bring her joy. For her to lose something, is akin to losing a piece of her soul.

A part of her just died.

“Meg,” he pulls her close and she is not saying anything.

“She died years ago,” Erik says softly, and Meg cries out and RC whimpers loudly.

“You still have those memories of her. You don’t need that,” he nods to the pieces,” to honor her,” Meg is vibrating.

“How many of those scarves have you kept?”

Meg covers her face with her hands, and she lets the flood loose. Stupid figurine, stupid boy. Stupid Madame Giry for turning her back on Meg and making her this blubbering thing.

Erik holds her close.

“That’s not your mother,” Erik says and kisses the top of her head.

“She died before we could,” Meg buries her face into his chest and he pets the back of her head.

“You did nothing wrong.”

\--

* * *

**2017, NYC**

“Freak of nature! How’d you manage that?!”

The PlayStation 4 system just exploded. Meg drops the controller and stares at Erik, her mouth agape, he is equally as confused and shocked.

“I have nothing,” he has no idea how that happened.

“Rezy is not going to like this,” Meg bites her nails.

“What the actual fuck!” RC cries out as he enters the room and sees what his beloved game system was once.

Erik hands RC his credit card,” go buy a Disney,” Erik pushes RC along, who stares at the credit card and then nods along happily.


	37. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some more fluff and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lh8_ozZ6fuM  
> (DW, Hide)

* * *

**2016, Wadleigh School of Performing Arts**

It is opening night for the school’s production of _Chicago,_ and Lorne is Billy Flynn, life is good. His great love, Meg Giry could not be there, which sucks, but she promised to catch the following night, that is something. Erik, boo, and RC came to support him. He is having a calming moment which is rudely interrupted by Erik, who grabs him by the front of his shirt and presses him roughly into the wall.

“Where did you get that outfit.” He is deadly calm, and his eyes are burning hellfire. Lorne grabs at Erik’s arms and tries to free himself, Erik lifts him off the ground.

“Mother let him have access to your closet,” RC joins the fray, he is not concerned for his friend, he is bored, he knows his father will not actually hurt Lorne, Meg will get pouty, and Erik little's black heart breaks when she pouts because of him, or, in general.

Lorne nods, but Erik does not relent. Lorne looks away, he cannot keep his cool with those hateful eyes.

“ ** _Where. Did. You. Get. That. Jacket.”_** Erik uses his free hand to tap it, the shimmery suit jacket that completes the ensemble.

“Does it matter?” RC’s never seen his father get so ornery over a jacket or something this inane.

“The laundry room,” Lorne wheezes. Erik growls like a demon and releases him.

“We don’t have a laundry room,” RC blinks, he looks at his father in confusion.

“From the mannequin on display?” Erik snarls through clenched teeth, Lorne nods and moves away. RC understands his father’s ire.

“The Bob Fosse Museum?” RC whispers, Erik nods, Lorne remains confused.

“Mother will kill you if anything happens to that,” Erik grabs and shows off the jacket, it is missing a button and is ripped in the corner. RC’s blood turns cold.

“You can fix that right, Papa? One of your many, many, many talents,” RC’s voice fades away, Erik’s hands twitch, he shakes his head.

“Your Mother is best at that,” Erik sighs.

“Sorry, what’s happening?” Lorne feels out of sorts and small.

“That room is off limits to you and you fucking,” RC steps in and pushes his father back.

“That was a museum dedicated to Mother’s favorite human, she spent years collecting those items and to keep them preserved. She will _**die**_ when she sees this,” RC gestures to the damage.

“She’s not here, so,” Lorne breaks off when Meg Giry jumps into view, holding a wrapped package.

“So, I did get to come after all! I caught like the last five minutes, but still! Tomorrow, all in, hey, who did your costume? Love sparkles.” Meg points at the jacket, Lorne’s eyes are wide, and he feels awkward.

“And pressies!” She hands him the gift; he accepts it with shaking hands. Meg reads the room wrong; she turns to Erik and slaps his arm.

“He’s not one of your students! He is a teenager who has **no** interest in being a tennabaum, the proper approach is, you did good, kiddo.” She rolls her eyes and turns to Lorne. She smiles and then takes in the suit jacket, it sings familiarity.

"That looks a lot like the costume from," Erik grabs Meg's hips and lifts her up roughly and kisses her through his mask, he spins around and pushes, presses her into the wall, RC motions for Lorne to follow him and they flee.

Erik's philosophy: When it doubt, fuck it out. 

When you know, all other logical approaches have failed.

* * *

**2018**

**"** One of the grandkids wants to work for me. I don't like it." Charles throws his cig behind him and finishes his scotch.

"Because you'd have to pay them?" Nadir has no family left and is just a little bit envious about that.

Charles and Jules have lots of grand family members and have kept in touch. Some are greedy and only want money, which is most of Jules's line spare his current favorite granddaughter, Jem. Charles's people have always been cool and just want to work with him, and they also think he's a wizard, so there is that.

"This one, Louise, is a sociopath, and I am pretty sure she thinks she can manipulate me and kill me, which I respect, but I don't want that near my team. The idea of shutting down another mutiny is enticing, not gonna lie." Charles lights another cig and shakes his empty glass to the bartender.

"Is it the body disposal?" Jules asks, he can relate to those woes, Charles nods. Nadir drinks more beer, sometimes, he does not know how these are among his closest most personal friends, nay, family.

"When I first met the two of you, you both were **_hard_** against murder." Nadir misses those days, now it's just him, Meg, and Christine. Charles has corrupted sweet Raoul, and sometimes his problems also just happen to disappear.

"It's not murder, it's protecting business assets and your employees and your family." Raoul says, Charles nods and pats his best friend on the back. 

"Speaking of family, where is E? So many people here for him to prey upon," Nadir looks around.

"Rezy graduates today or something," Jules says. Nadir, Raoul, and Charles stop drinking.

"Weren't we supposed to go to that?" Charles's insides deflate.

"They're throwing at party at the kiddo's favorite restaurant Bea." Raoul, Charles, Jules, and Nadir leave their stools, gather their jackets and get sorted fast.

"That's what Christine was talking about!" Raoul cries out.

"If Meg pouts, I will _**die**_!" Charlies shaking hands make it difficult for him to light up another cig.

"I'll take a pouting Meg over a pouty Erik, Allah, I am going to have spend the entire night holding his hand. Yes, Erik I still love you, no Erik, we did not have a party without you, no Erik, we do not have a secret phone thread," Nadir pulls at his face and groans.

"Why is our lord of demons so damn clingy? Where's the anti social sociopath incapable of human emotions and connections?"

"Your dreams," the others sigh collectively as they get into the car that has pulled up for them.

* * *

Nadir beelines it to Erik, because as predicted, Erik is closed off, shut down, and distant. Nadir begins his consoling efforts with a beer and an apologetic smile.

"I got my nights mixed up."

Meg is not pouty, she's been having fun with sampling all the alcohol and embarrassing her son in front of his schoolmates. It's a good night for a mom.

"Do you have anymore pictures?" 

RC steps up to his mother and fights her for her phone, she pokes under his arms, a weak spot, he cries out laughter and grabs his armpit, while Meg moves away victorious.

"Yes, I do!" She cackles, RC shouts protests but is drown up by his schoolmates happiness and cheers.

* * *

**September 2000,**

Their doctor has ordered mandatory bed rest for Meg for the remainder of her pregnancy, which is easier said than done. Meg is not the type to remain still, when Erik started to chain her to the bed, to keep her in bed, she followed the doctor’s orders, and Erik eventually stopped the chains, some of, most of it, was for his amusements and need of victimizing someone.

To be clear, _ **Erik is not** a member of the bondage scene or related niches_, he has his chains, to control, to torture, he has absolute malicious and cruel intentions. He had a rough childhood.

Meg is on mandatory bedrest because she is a high risk pregnancy and the last time, she was pregnant, when she reached five months, Sorelli happened and she lost the baby traumatically. Erik was still quite monstrous and cruel towards Meg, and considered Sorelli’s actions loyalty and was rewarded.

Erik is not the same, and he feels sick and becomes sick when he remembers how he treated her. Meg's response: "You weren't ready, it was selfish to force you in that situation, you acted on your need for a kind self preservation, I cannot fault you for that,"

Meg is a Goddess, and how her light hasn't burned out yet is a testament to her strength, which she constantly denies having, she is incorruptible. 

Sorelli is around, Erik has been avoiding her because this time, he does want the child rearing experience with his mate, and he will not let anything, including himself, take that away from him and his mate.

He’s been staying close to Meg, but tonight he’s going to indulge in some fun and scratch some itches that are gnawing at him.

* * *

"I wasn't going to do this, but this happened. Designed and built a client a workspace, strictly off the books, and got this as payment." Charles shows off his off the books payment, a suitcase full of pure, uncut heroin. Nadir's cop senses are screaming, he is shaking. He needs to walk away. Jules, Raoul and Erik pounce and make mad grabs.

"I fucking love New York!" Jules cries out in exultation. 

"None of this is okay!" Nadir is pulling at his hair, the others ignore him.

"I know, it's fucking great!"

* * *

"Baby girls are the best when it comes to diapers, it's the boys that are pieces of shit," Charles says, Jules and Charles are offering their fatherly advice to Erik, who did not solicit for it.

"You gotta hold down that penis, you will get pissed on and in your mouth. Two daughters and one son, learned fast with the son, only happened twice," Charles smiles proud like, Jules moans.

"I have five boys, and they always made a point to nail me. Annette thought it was funny."

"Do something about the penis, got it." Erik's legs start to shake and his fingers tap against thighs.

"Hospitals today are so good. I'm honestly surprised that Louise survived. At least today, everyone practices hand washing." Charles and Jules are oblivious to Erik's agitation and anxiety.

"Annette almost died delivering our youngest. She lost a lot of blood. She was in the hospital for almost a month, but that won't happen with Meg," Jules sighs happily.

"My wife died," Nadir whispers, he still remembers. He held onto her until the bitter end. The light left her eyes, it was like all the stars went with her. Erik's tapping incases and he starts to hum a song.

"Meg is strong, she's an elite dancer, they are trained, nay, built to withstand extreme pain. Meg told me she performed _Faust_ with a broken foot."

"She what?!

Charles nods, pride swelling for the love he keeps secret.

"She took a few weeks off for it to mostly heal, dancers cannot not dance."

"She stayed with me during that. I didn't know she was injured," Erik feels panic and shame set in. He didn't know, she never showed any signs of pain or discomfort.

"Telling you, strong woman."

"I insulted the ballet," Erik bends forward in shame.

"Because you're a prick, it's what you do."

"All the dancers are like that?" 

Jules, Nadir, and Charles nod.

"Fuck,"

Jules wraps an arm around him and soothes him," it's okay Erik, she knows you're an asshole, and she loves you anyway, we all do," the others agree.

* * *

**January 19, 2001**

Words fall away. Meg is supposed to be strong, an elite dancer who apparently can perform flawlessly with broken feet. She should be annoying him with her giddy insatiable glee of being a mother finally.

She should be speaking nonsense, babble, and he should be in the corner, being aloof, pretending he does not care about any of this, when his face is breaking from his own joy.

He was pushed out of the room when the machines set off and the nurses and doctors started shouting orders and words and codes.

Her heart stopped. Not for a few seconds, but worked on her heart for two minutes, he counted, he **_felt_** her die.

She came back, and his world started again, but something is still wrong. Meg is in a coma, and they do not know or believe if she will wake up. Erik presses his palms against the glass, as he watches her.

This is what Hades must go through when Persephone has to leave for the sun, what Orpheus felt when Eurydice couldn't come home after all. The Doctor losing Rose, goddamnit, he doesn't have anyone to watch that with now.

Those monsters that "haunted," the house because they were separated, that episode made Meg cry so much, she held onto Erik," that's so true! I'd never be able to stop screaming if I lost you like that."

Someone has been vying for his attention, Erik looks at the doctor, he is nervous, what once would bring some semblance of joy, offers nothing, he is empty, hollow.

"I loath to bring this up, but she is listed as an organ donor," Erik does not let him finish that thought and he dies instantly, Erik brings his bloody gloved hand back to support him, as he leans forward and hangs his head.

"You promised forever," he is weak, he taps his mask, he is confused at first, but realization sets in, he is crying.

* * *

**Four days later**

"I'm kind of nervous about getting out, I mean, no food for four days? That's like the best cleanse and fast ever. I may need to make it a solid week, there is this dress I don't know if I can still fit into," Meg looks over at Erik, who is full on brood.

"Oh, come on! That's worth at least a titter or some chortles."

"You were in coma after your heart stopped for two minutes," Erik is surprised he can keep his voice even.

"Oh, I know what happened. You're sad, I interrupted the drug and Christine feast. Go on, get it out of your system, I'll drive myself home," Meg winks, and Erik makes a strange sound, Meg gets serious, her features soften, Erik is upset, truly. 

"Get over it, I didn't die," Meg means for that to be comforting.

"You did die,"

"Mostly dead, maybe, but like they say in the classic tale, true love keeps you alive, or love never dies, or," Meg trails off, she actually cannot remember the exact quote and that's causing true fear and anxiety.

"I thought it was the end," Erik moves closer," they wanted to harvest your organs for donors on the lists," Erik speaks softly,

"My organs belong to my ghost!" Meg declares, Erik nods, he grabs on the rail attached to her bed for support.

"I don't think I'd like the afterlife, if it's bright as they say or paint. Even Persephone needs her shade." Meg grabs his hand and Erik looks over.

"I promised you forever, and you made it happen, so you're stuck with all of this! I'm not letting you go, our love is _**eternal**_ ," Meg beams.

"I believe I can endure you." Erik feigns great exasperation and capitulation. 

"That's my guy!" Meg claps.

Erik leans over and he kisses her through his mask, he places both arms on either side of her, the nurse enters the room, it's time to feed their new baby,

"Oh, and we did that!" Meg giggles with glee as she pushes Erik away,

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like to stress again, this Erik NOT a member of the bondage and those niches, those who are, do NOT want to harm their partner, and make sure they do not, Erik is vile predatory psychopath NOT the same thing. he likes medieval torture and you know, yeah. I go all evil and then slowly lessen it... called character arc.
> 
> and um, hello beatiful readers, what's up? made an instagram for my sloth, I named after Michael Crawford,
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/michaelcrawford_the_sloth_/


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